


Don't Ask Don't Tell

by Quilljoy



Category: Weiß Kreuz, Weiß Side B (Manga)
Genre: Ableist Language, Asexual Character, Aya is ace, Bondage, Chloe is pan, Consensual Kink, I Don't Even Know, I try, Ken has issues, Kink Negotiation, M/M, Non-Sexual Bondage, Polyamory, Polyamory Negotiations, Relationship Negotiation, Secret Relationship, Unresolved Sexual Tension, also very sexual bondage later on I promise, they try
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-29
Updated: 2015-07-23
Packaged: 2018-02-10 22:35:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 21,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2042865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quilljoy/pseuds/Quilljoy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Or, "Why Unstable Assassins Shouldn't Get Tied Up in Bondage Kink."</i>
</p><p>Ken explores kink and tries not to think he's going insane, Aya doesn't know if he's helping or actually making things worse, and Chloe gets those two idiots to talk about their feelings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Ken I

**Author's Note:**

> My mojo is back. 
> 
> Ken explores kink and tries not to think he's going insane, Aya doesn't know if he's helping or actually making things worse, and Chloe gets those two idiots to talk about their feelings. 
> 
> Main TW for ableist slurs, courtesy of one Ken Hidaka. Characters' opinions do not reflect those of the management.
> 
> Somewhat based in my own headcanon from ages ago: http://inktrap.tumblr.com/post/74883072428/someone-help-me-im-overcome-by-weiss-feels

If anybody noticed the rope burns on Ken’s wrists, they didn’t mention it.

Ken woke up to the light filtered by the window screen. It seeped through the cracks in the blinds, cool like October, the morning chill forcing a groan and a stretch out of him before he'd the courage to jump out of the bed.

The alarm clock sat by his side untouched. The dawn bled lazily by; a morning he'd have liked to spend in bed, tucked in and warm. 6 AM was already half an hour old. Yuki should've been gone to sleep already, their awkward confrontation in the hallways avoided. The kid would always nod at him, a bland look on his face as Ken would tell him not to go to sleep so late next time. "Aah," The kid was growing too much like Aya. "Next time."

As far as they were concerned, next time never came. They were just another one of his now forgotten habits, the early mornings, although by any means 6 and a half AM wasn't late, and everyone else was still closed off in their own rooms - or at least in some other room, halfway across the city, in Chloe's case. Not that it was any of his business. As long as Chloe wasn't there asking about him and the way his wrists were chaffed and red and raw, well, it was for the best, anyway. Chloe was a lot like someone he used to know. If Chloe ever saw them - and Ken wasn't going out of his way for someone not to, they all be damned - he would ask. Because he was a nosy piece of shit who liked getting Ken uncomfortable.

So yeah.

Not that it was a strange thing to begin with. _Work hazard_. The words slipped into his mind and he stifled a laugh, finally pushing himself out of his covers and into his slippers. He washed his face and brushed his teeth, still laughing in his head. His mouth tasted stale. In the mirror, the purple bruising made a stark contrast against the pale skin. He'd have to start tanning real soon if he didn't want Aya to think he was going sick.

It was hard being an assassin without it bitting you back in the ass later. Most of them had marks to show for it. Aya got that scar on his back. He never told Ken what it was from, but fair thing, Ken never told him about the burnt marks, either, though it was in his file, if Aya ever bothered looking for it - but he guess he didn't. Respecting his privacy and all that. Ken didn't know if he was supposed to feel grateful for it. In any case, Aya's scar healed between his shoulder blades, a clean sharp wound, cut nicely and patched up even better. A sword bite, most likely. Anyone could tell it was a sword bite.

Work hazard his own wasn't. Ken examined his wrists. Living with a bunch of assassins had its perks. There was a first aid kit under the sink. The thread and needle were where he'd forgotten them, discarded over a pile of bloodied bandages he'd forgotten to throw on the trash. There were also balms, lotions - a cream to rub on purple marks to make them better. If Ken wanted to heal - if he wanted to - the burns would've already  faded to a soft yellow.

Ken sort of liked them the way they were. And he lived in a place full of men who'd see it and _know_.

So Ken was in a conundrum, alright, which meant he got up half an hour later than he wanted to and spent too long in the restroom checking up his hair, and his teeth, and an infinitely long list of things he didn't give a shit about. It meant his stomach was already growling by seven, complaining about all the rice and the nori he wasn't going to eat because he was stuck in England.

Ken longed for miso soup. It wasn't even a normal longing, like missing his homeland. He missed miso soup like he'd missed Aya - which was a pretty good damn compliment on Aya, if he'd any.

He made his way down the stairs softly. The western furniture was strange, and he'd to feel his way down the first floor as if he hadn't been trained to navigate unknown rooms. It was strange to imagine this large place, this gaudy mansion as... Home. The sparse rooms above the flower shop weren't home either, nor was the trailer. But there'd been a familiarity - like the young chatter of Japanese women and the cheery songs blasting on the television. The cool, regulated breeze from the AC in the closest department store. He'd never really paid attention to them until he lost it. There was a lesson to be learnt somewhere but Ken didn't know which one. He just missed being able to eat tofu in the morning.

It was a goddamn waste of a good kitchen, if he'd ever seen one. Ken propped open one of the drawers and fished out a sad package of instant miso. They were thinning out, but Ken didn't feel like running to the closest Asian product store nearby, which happened to be more than an hour away. Even the instant stuff was better than an English breakfast, at least until he'd gotten his hands on the real thing again. Ken watched the water boil and tried not to think of how much long it was going to take.

"Aren't you cold?"

Ken didn't bother turning back. Aya thought he was quiet, and he was. But he'd that particular brand of silence you could _not_ hear a mile coming, if you knew how. Aya muffled his steps without wanting to, but Ken swore he could hear his heartbeats.

Ken shrugged. It was Aya's way of asking why he wasn't wearing long sleeves.

"Good morning to you too," he replied back in Japanese. There wasn't anybody up, so he didn't see why Aya bothered speaking English to begin with. Ken plucked the kettle off the stove and turned off the fire, pouring the water on the sandy grains that condensed into soup. Aya joined him. Their arms brushed as Aya borrowed the kettle, enough water for the two of them.

"Want me to make one for you?"

"I'll appreciate your culinary skills some other morning."

Aya was smiling a lot more these days. Ken laughed, and then twisted his nose away when he figured out what Aya was getting the water for.

"Black tea? Going native, I see."

Aya's turn to shrug. He appeared to be in a fairly good humor for someone who used to be so serious. Weiss changed him, but America and England, they had changed him more. Ken felt somewhat jealous, although, if he'd to be honest, he'd changed too, and Aya wasn't entirely responsible.

They ate in silence until it became unbearable. Ken was sure Aya wouldn't mind, with his tea and the scones, and the berry jam that Ken never thought someone like him was going to enjoy anyway. Aya didn't like sweets. Yet Ken ate his watery soup that tasted like sandpaper and couldn't keep quiet, couldn't keep himself from leaning towards Aya and feeling the warmth of his body. Aya was right. He was cold. Maybe he was just looking for an excuse to go around sleeveless for at least once during the day.

"I didn't expect anyone to be up, you know?"

Aya stirred his tea.

"It's almost eight."

"Already?" His eyes shot towards the clock hanging above the fridge,  where their work schedule hung pinned by cute cat-shaped magnets. Half past seven wasn't really eight, he thought stubbornly, but he could see why Aya was concerned. Michael had written his and Free's names in colored marker, right down at the first shift. Ken came up later, at one o'clock, after they were supposed to go out for lunch. Still. The store opened at nine.

"Shit." He muted his curse downing his soup in one gulp. It must've been damn hilarious because even Aya sketched a reaction to it, pressing his lips together as if he didn't want Ken to know he'd the capacity not to find things so serious all the time. Even Ken knew they weren't supposed to laugh about it. He rubbed his wrists, feeling self conscious.

"I don't do this all the time."

Aya cocked one eyebrow up. Ken didn't want to explain himself to Aya, but he guessed he owed it to him, having started things in the first place.

"I mean," he tried to be rational. "It's just mornings. Nobody wakes up as early as I do. And- and you know the flower shop gives me a reason to wear gloves all the time."

He'd given thought to it. Like, he was embarrassed about how much thought. But Aya eyed him as if he'd been proud, and not completely freaked out that Ken had spent a lot of time fantasizing about getting tied up, so there was that.

It wasn't as if he was trying too hard or anything. Ken stared intently at his  miso. The paste had fallen down entirely, turning the water into a muddy brown with a few chunks of fake-tofu floating on the top. It's just that he didn't have any reasons to hang out with his wrists showing. He always wore long sleeved tracksuits to run and train, regardless of the weather, and it wasn't hard work to convince everyone else he would be delighted to take the job of sorting their inventory. It just meant he got stuck moving piles of fertilizer and pots of plants all day long. Nobody else actually wanted to do that, and the gloves were sort of mandatory. Plus, it left the job of making floral arrangements to those with the delicate fingers, like Michael and Aya.

Aya was pretty good with his hands.

Ken had tried to be more like him, but his fingers were too rough and stubby for dealing with flowers. (Or knots). The swordplay calloused Aya's hands, when he'd have soft skin otherwise, like a girl's. Ken sort of liked them the way they were, though.

Ken fought not to fidget once he was done. He ought to sit next to Aya out of politeness, but Aya gave him his silent permission to go on and he dumped his bowl and leftovers under a spray of cold water. He wasn't... Outright avoiding Aya. And if he was - which he wasn't - Aya wasn't going to call him out on it, because that was Aya's way of doing things, wasn't it? He was patient. He'd been edged on by someone else every time he went looking for Ken (and that wasn't the issue, was it, Ken just thought he could use a lot more initiative), but usually, he just waited until Ken gave himself away. It was bad. Ken knew his own tells, but he couldn't stop himself. His leg would move on its own accord, he'd bounce on the floor, his fingers twitched. He just wasn't born to stand still like Aya, quiet and closed off on his own corner until someone dared to shift the natural balance of things.

Which was weird, considering their situation. But whatever. He could feel Aya frowning from the other side of the kitchen as he pretended there was nothing they should be talking about. There was _not_ , he forced himself to think and relax under the insistent pressure of Aya's gaze, because Aya picked up on the smallest trace of discomfort. Like a shark.

Ken snorted, imagining just what Chloe would have to say to that, and Aya moved his eyes towards him, bearing into his skull. Ken rubbed his nape absentmindedly. The water trickled in droplets down his shirt, making him shudder and close the tap off, and just move away from Aya, from the question in his stare - which Ken felt was entirely justified - and the guilt for ignoring him, burning low in the bottom of his stomach. Aya always knew when there was something wrong. Which was why it worked in the first place - it just wouldn't be the same if he didn't trust Aya to read how elusive he managed to be at times. Chloe said he was an open book; Aya knew better. And - and it wouldn't work, either, if Aya didn't trust him to speak when he felt he needed to, but Ken just didn't want, not yet. Not nearing eight AM in the morning, when he could hear the soft rustling from upstairs, meaning someone was up and about, and readying themselves for the beginning of the day. 

"Aya." He startled himself. Aya, as always, didn't look fazed by it. He twisted on his back and leaned on the chair, one arm propped on top of the backrest, curious, the shadows playing on his face to make his brow a little more furred than it had to be just because Ken finally talked. His eyes were the wrong shade of purple. Too dark. 

Ken flushed, and moved his eyes back to the sink. He cleaned the bowl a little more carefully than he would in any given day, eyes fixed on it.

"Do you have, hm, are you doing anything tonight? A mission, I mean."

Aya waited a couple of seconds.

"Hmn." _No._

"And- no other plans, right? At least not late."

"Do you want me to-"

"Yeah," Ken rushed in. He didn't like it when Aya spelled things out loud. He should to, he guessed it was for the best, but not out there, in the open, where anyone could hear it. Ken strained his ears. Somewhere down the pipes the water was running, either Michael or Free running a quick shower before their morning routines. Good. "Yeah, that'd be nice."

"Alright. Are you-" the question hung in the air. Aya didn't have to start it for Ken to realize the tension that fell between them, his shoulders strained and muscles tightened. Like before a battle - only there wasn't that good side of the anticipation, the thrill kicked in by all the adrenalin rushing through his body. Ken poised himself too straight, and Aya noticed and decided to go with it, because why the hell not? He'd already started anyway. Talking about what Ken didn't want to talk about. "Are you in trouble?"

"No."

"Okay."

He dropped the subject. Aya got back to his stupid tea and the sweet Ken couldn't enunciate. As if he'd trusted him to be honest about it in the first place, and hadn't been expecting any other answer. Ken didn't know why it got him pissed off, but it did. He gripped the towel between his fists and strained it until the urge to hit Aya in the head faded, the rage ebbing in waves. There was no reason to be angry at Aya for trusting him, the idiot. He hadn't even lied about it. Well. It was a given none of them ever felt fine, but Ken wasn't half as troubled as he'd been that night, after he'd washed Jonathan O'Brien's blood off of his hands until he couldn't feel their warmth anymore. Back then, Ken'd wanted to smash something. Now he just wished things to stop being so awkward, even though he was sure half of it was in his own damn mind. Aya behaved the same as ever. No judgement, no demands for explanations Ken couldn't give, nothing but acceptance, so maybe Ken was the one who couldn't accept that Aya just went through with it. As if it was a normal thing, as if Ken wasn't slipping out of his mind again, searching for control the only way he could deal with it - because _that stuff_? Like- enjoying getting tied up? Almost _getting off_ on it? That was for crazy people. Aya obviously didn't feel the same way he did. He just got along with it. Not like he'd anything better to do on his checklist than murdering people and tying someone up during his free time, right? Ken would ask someday. He bet Aya would say "Ken, it's just the way things are". That seemed to be Aya's response to everything. Very zen buddhist of him.

Ken dropped the towel back in place.

"See ya later, then."

Aya nodded.

"Same hour?"

_Crazy people._

"Yeah." 

Aya made it sound like an appointment for the doctor or something, which as far as Ken knew, it couldn't have been closer to the truth. Before he realized it, he'd be getting taken by men in white and placed in a loony bin, tied up in a straitjacket and hanging from the ceiling like that lunatic that got on his case. If they ever bothered, frankly, Ken just wished they'd kill him and be done with it. Probably not, though. Omi- Mamoru, his memory quickly provided the correction - found an use for Schwarz. If he'd been capable of collaring a telekinetic, he'd find a way to use Ken, too. It was pathetic, considering the pull Schwarz had had on them. Mamoru said "Jump", Mayfly said "How high?". Ken just hoped he'd last a little longer.

This arrangement didn't look half as bad in comparison. _Yeah, still crazy._ He wasn't blood thirsty, though, nor Persia's personal lapdog.

Ken looked back to the kitchen on his way out and, for a fleeting second, when the clock chimed eight in the morning, and he could hear Michael flying down the stairs, Ken thought - "Well, that might just work."

Aya smiled at him and he got sure of it.


	2. Aya I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello folks! I suggest y’all hear the Endless Rain Drama CD before this chapter. There's a translation here http://asylums.insanejournal.com/hopeforlorn/4625.html . The chapter will contain spoilers for this drama. 
> 
> Sorry in advance for any errors you might (will) find in this chapter. I'll come back later to fix it to the best of my knowledge, but if you find anything worth mentioning, do tell. Positive and negative things alike ;D

"I was thinking if- maybe- you could do my legs next?"

Ken blinked as if he didn't believe he'd just voiced that. It took him widening his eyes for Aya to realize how green they were, deep enough to swallow him whole if he paid no care. If he didn't brave the steps slowly, holding the two of them back when Ken dared further ahead than they should go.

"Wait, that's stupid." He looked like he'd realized something of importance. "Of course I can tie my own legs first, I mean, we do have the same training."

"Of course."

Aya remembered being kept six hours in a stuffed room as Birman passed slide after slide. The darkness, the clicking of the machine (constant, in a cadency of rhythm that couldn't possibly be imagined) and Birman's staccato accounted for a drowsy afternoon, even if his life should depend on it - as it had, a few times. Luckily for him, criminals didn't spend quite so many hours getting lessons on rope work, nor did they have pop up quizzes on it later.

Ken sighed in instant relief, though Aya would take the sagging of his shoulders for a sign of disappointment.

He treaded on carefully.

"If you still want it," he paused, weighting his words against Ken's expression. "It wouldn't be any problem for me. I could tie up your legs as well."

"You could?!" Disbelief. And gratitude. It worried him just how much Ken let out in these brief exchanges, when they didn't stumble for words. Such openness disarmed him, although Aya still found himself somewhat pleased, smiling with the corner of his eyes. It took self control not to ease into it and give in to those requests without rationalizing them. He was growing unaccustomed to denying this honest face, with the eyebrows set despite the tentative biting of his lips. Ken was a very unusual man. Aya wanted to help him, but he wasn't sure saying "yes" was the right choice. Of course, denying him outright would make Ken skittish and unlikely to ask again. But Aya had found out, years ago, best to answer truly. Ken might not appreciate what he had to say, but he knew Aya did what he could. And for whatever reason he thought best, Ken kept coming back.

The first time they had talked, Aya was the one who approached him. He'd thought of Kikyou and he'd thought of Shion, and he'd realized how close to becoming them Ken had gotten. Ken, of all people. Only later the man came to him, not yet a friend, not even remotely an acquaintance after the end of Weiss. He couldn't pinpoint the moment he became Ken's last desperate attempt at sanity, nor did he know why the man got attached to him, as if they'd first greeted with a bows, not fists. He'd let Ken go, and he came back. Not yet fixed but... Better. And it wasn't on him; that recovery was Ken's entirely. Aya cut their strings and Ken was there, now, clawing at his pants and staring at him eagerly.

Saint Exupery came to him unbidden. _You become responsible, forever, for what you have tamed._

"Aya..." Ken should be comfortable. It was his own room, but he couldn't help moving in bed, as if he'd too much energy that couldn't be contained. Aya eyed the bedcovers shifting out of place with little concern, and made a mental note to suggest they buy a futon. He felt out of place in England, no matter how much he insisted in being right there. Something from home could help easing the discomfort. "You would tell me if this was a weird-ass request, wouldn't you?"

Aya nodded.

“Yes, you would, or 'yes, it's weird'?"

"Yes, I would."

Ken flopped and fell back down on the mattress. On second thought, if they ever bought a futon, they'd lose the advantage provided by the headboard to connect a rope to.

"I don't know. I understand I shouldn't be dragging you into... This mess, y'know? It's just plain weird, even if you don't think so," Ken huffed. "But thanks anyway for going along with it. And for not thinking I'm wrong in the head," he added, which Aya felt to be unnecessary. They both knew how Ken acted when he slipped out of his mind, the low grasp on sanity edging him on to demand Aya's support without concern for his state of mind.

He was still weighting on Ken's desires as a worrying matter or no, but Ken didn't wish for anyone to be hurt - except maybe himself. It would have been a considerable doubt if he'd ever believed Ken's desires were masochist in nature, if Ken wanted to be punished for every night of hiding in shadows and lusting for blood. But it was a matter of easing discomfort and dragging Ken out of his shell, and not otherwise. In fact, if he'd to ever trace back a motive to it - as if such things needed a motive - he'd say Ken's new life in England had a lot more to do with it than anything else. Ken was fully able to go out on his own, his lack of english comprehension more of an aid than trouble when it stopped him from understanding cutting remarks on his slanted eyes. He did shopping and cooked for them when Nana’s food became insufferable, worked shifts like everyone else, jogged every morning. As for their night work, Ken’d stopped working like a butcher doing an extraneous job of hacking meat, nor did he show any enjoyment in it. It should’ve amounted for something, only it didn’t, or if it did, Aya was either the last string he ought to cut, or the last thread keeping him connected to the world around him, and Aya didn’t know which one.

Ken clung to him. Wether for a last memory of whom himself used to be, or for Aya's understanding of Ken’s nature - not his language or past, but more like the little habits that’d grown to shape the man - or even because he genuinely appreciated Aya’s company for who Aya was, he couldn’t say. A combination of the three, and it worried Aya, while still keeping a guilty feeling of warmth inside his chest.

"We aren't being properly careful about it."

Ken rose his head, propping his arms on his elbows.

"What do you mean? You think anybody knows?"

Aya shook his head.

"Do you believe you'll want me to restrain your entire body?"

Ken's face glowed red and he said, after struggling with his tongue and unsticking his lips together - "Yeah. Fuck. I hadn't really thought about that," he said it like it was all he'd ever thought about. Aya couldn't question. "Yeah. Eventually."

"I'm not pressuring you for an answer."

"If anyone's pressuring somebody else it's me-"

"You are not," he cut through Ken's line of thought. "We need to be taking appropriate measures for it, though, if you want to go further."

Ken bite back a laugh, his eyebrows meeting in the middle of his forehead, daring Aya to explain.

"Ken, you're getting hurt."

Ken cradled his wrists and shielded them away from him, protecting the marks from Aya's further examination. His eyes set on aggression, but it was the sort of taunt that come together with defensiveness. As if it was a non negotiable trait. Ken bit in his bottom lip and for a split second Aya saw the protest running through his head, a search for an explanation Ken couldn't give even to himself.

"Alright. But our leftovers from missions are hardly appropriate. And I cannot leave you unsupervised."

"Seriously? That's what you're concerned about? I'm fucking trained at it, Aya, give me some time and I can worm my way out of chains and a padlock."

"Dully noted."  
  
Regardless of how trained Ken thought himself to be, Aya's own set of skills was hardly appropriate for it, either. While his targets were usually to be taken alive during his time in Crashers, concerns about comfort and loss of blood circulation during captivity were of utmost irrelevance. A man like Ken would refuse help to get out of a situation, even if it meant losing a limb over it.

The concept of rope binding wasn't a novelty for him. The danger should be obvious for anyone whose tendencies weren’t so reckless (better reckless than self-destructive, in any case) - but Sendai’s memories, which he’d thought to be long buried within him, resurfaced as an alarming sign. It was not about how far some people were willing to go (and in such case, shouldn’t be Aya to be the one mistrusted, since he was tying the knots?), only… Well. There were practical dangers to it, like nerve compression and restricted breathing.

The Aoba Flower-Arrangement Center was more than a few kilometers away now, and farthest in spirit than in distance. It did Aya well to focus in the present more than in what could’ve been learnt from Kikyou. A man like him would likely have put Ken in danger…

(Aya wondered briefly if Kikyou had ever used boys. He chided himself after catching the thought, but before he could stop it, his mind was already racing, imagining how one would go from point A to B. For Kikyou to step so low as to use girls' maimed bodies and call it art… He knew how interested Kikyou had been in other sorts of pursuits, but how did he ever came in contact with the Shi no Geijitsu Kyoutsushi, to begin with? It wasn’t the first time this question bloomed in his mind, but for Aya, it was the first time it mattered. Ken wasn't the type to have heard about SM before, what brought up further questions about just what he was into. He supposed Ken didn't know it himself.)

"Do you trust me that much with it, uh?" Ken slicked his hair back with a sigh, missing the point by a mile. “You think I’m gonna fuck this up."

"And you trust _me_." It wasn't a question. "Which is why I should care about your safety."

"What a piece of shit! This is a real joke coming from someone who already drove a sword through me."

Aya gritted his teeth. He'd forgotten how difficult Ken could be. Ken pushed the bottom of his shirt with a splayed palm, fingertips brushing against his stomach. The scar split Ken's torso. No reminder of a blade's edge there; whatever had been left was a surgeon's work.

Ken would never heal, just like he'd never play soccer again, or visit a church without feeling the burden of his life weighting on his shoulders. He wouldn't marry a girl with red hair, and neither would he father the kids he knew he’d love so much. All there was left of Ken was a promise of a future he couldn't have. Now Ken was looking up for a different future. Aya knew. He had a sister he loved once. He’d even ran in an attempt to leave his past behind, but Ken caught up with him and now he’d Ken.

Partners, uh?

"I care about you," Aya said.

The room remained quiet.

Ken slid his fingers across the scar. His eyes were set on the marks; if from the sword wound or the rope, Aya was unable to tell. Ken didn't flush. He didn't stutter, or flailed about or tried to justify Aya's words. He was embarrassed, Aya realized, not without doubt. Ken spit out curses and packed a punch when he was being teased. Aya didn't do that, the whole banter Ken had going on with Yohji or Chloe. Aya didn't open his mouth much unless he was being honest.

"I know," Ken replied after deliberating, tongue twisted, playing with the corner of his lips. If Aya felt any disappointment at his words, he didn't let it show. "You shouldn't be so protective, though. I'm an adult and I know what I'm asking for."

 _No, you don't._ But Aya allowed Ken to continue; he'd a lump in his throat and looked like he wanted to talk so badly. Just didn't know how.

“You’re a kind guy, going all soft on me.” Ken said affectionally, his hand still cradling the stomach. “You don’t need to. And worrying about scars, hah… When you never once came to visit me in the hospital after this.”

“Ken-“ Sweat prickled the back of Aya’s neck. Ken cut him through with a glance.

“Don’t worry about the scars. Because I like them…. I like it." His voice diminished. Ken folded upon himself. Ken had been short, once, the growth spurt that hit him just another reminder Kritiker had robbed Ken of his youth, but now he was a man grown, all coiled tension and tightly packed muscles. Aya knew just how threatening Ken could be. It should've been hard for someone like him to look so small.

Aya tightened his lips.

"I guess I don't feel like that very often. What a load of crap-" he laughed and pressed his knees closer to his chest. "Being vulnerable is dangerous in our job. I can't help it, though. When I know I can't get away... I mean, I guess I know I can stop at any time, maybe that's why I don't panic? But it's just not me not being bothered by it, I feel.."

Ken wasn't inclined to continue.

"You can't change how you feel."

"I feel safe. It's ridiculous."

"It isn't unusual."

Ken made a face at him as if he was about to demand Aya to tell him more, but he didn't feel like expanding on the subject, so he pressed on the point which he felt to be more important.

"I understand what you say. But we should minimize the chance for accidents. I assume you don't want to lose a limb over it?" He cocked one eyebrow. It worked; Ken visibly relaxed after that.

"Yeah, I am really not that crazy.”

“You still want the chaffing, though?”

"Y-yeah.” Thin like a whisper now.

“Okay.” Aya nodded, what had to be funny, because Ken burst out in a nervous fit of laughter, tightening his jaw not to call anybody’s attention. Everyone knew Aya went to Ken’s room sometimes. They didn’t bother asking why. It’d be in their best interest if people didn’t find themselves curious enough to barge in (namely Chloe, who had a strange sense of personal space).

“Hah, you don’t have to talk like this, you know? Like… ‘Mission Accomplished’ or something.”

“I apologize if I-“

“Geez, Aya. If I knew how awkward this was going to get, I’d never have said anything in first place,” he rubbed the back of his head. That sort of sentence was the reason Aya still felt hesitant. “Chill.”

“No. If you feel something, I want to know. Wether you’re feeling good with yourself, or sad, or if you just want to vent. Communication is important.”

 _That_ made Ken squeak.

“Ugh, how dare you demand that when you never say anything yourself?"

“I thought I just say I cared about you.”

“Fuck off! That’s embarrassing, don’t you realize you’re talking to a grown man here?”

The corner of his mouth twitched. Before he realized it, Aya was smirking at Ken, whose desperation was starting to show.

"And just how much do you know about people getting tied up anyway? I hardly imagine that's what you like to do in your spare time."

Ah. There was it. No trace of malice in the question, but Aya shrugged and chose not to underestimate Ken.

"Yes, hardly. A former Kritiker agent and comrade of mine happened to be a master at rope binding, amongst other things. He later became involved with a SM group that derailed into deathly practices and mutilated young girls. I believe you've met him in Sendai...?"

"Wait wait wait wait." Ken pinched the bridge of his nose. "So you've learn this with a deranged lunatic that tried to slice us up?"

"Amongst sword wielding and ikebana... Not that I have proper practice. As you've guessed correctly, it's not something that's of my interest."

Aya knew immediately it had been the wrong thing to say. Ken looked like he been punched in the gut.

"What the hell. That's... That's a lot of info to digest. "

"Ken, I don't think you are anything like him. I... Despite what he said to me once, I believe we are not alike, either. You do not have to worry."

Ken rolled his eyes at that, but Aya persisted.

"I need you to listen to me. Many people are interested in this, for... Recreational purposes. It doesn't make anyone like him. He just happened to be involved in a darker path." Once the silence persisted, Aya moved on. "I apologize for mentioning him."

"No, I asked for it. But what the hell, I wasn't being serious... Just..." He dared a look in Aya's direction. "Many people? Aren't you sure they're all... You know, normal?"

Aya nodded. "Do I look insane to you?"

Ken bit back a laugh.

"You are not into it, though."

Maybe not. He never looked into it deeply enough to attain an interest, but he certainly didn't mind tying Ken up if he felt like it. There was beauty to be found in binding, as much as there was in any other ritual. Only one part of the scene he couldn't deal with, in any case. Aya didn't even know if there was a point to it; if it was the sort of thing worth mentioning to Ken, whose sexuality was just another burden underneath all that Christian guilt, much like everything else. He did, in any case, because Ken deserved to know if he expected something else... Or even if it was something Aya only suspected Ken of wanting without really understanding.

"I'm not into sex."

Ken's jaw fell.

"What does it have to do with anything?"

He wasn't panicking, at least. Good.

"I mean- if that's what you're into or not- that's great - but you don't have to talk it like it's my business."

"Alright."

"It's not... This isn't like… It’s not what I’m asking for alright? Although I guess if you... Like a person or something, it's only natural to want to be close to them." Ken doubted his own conclusions, head twisting back to face Aya in hopes of a confirmation Aya didn't feel ready to give. Yes, he supposed it was natural. Most people experienced arousal to those they were romantically attracted. He... Did not, and it was something he had barely given a thought to before his sister left her hospital bed. Aya figured out he'd finally be free to experience all these aspects of life he'd been missing out, and once the pinning weight of guilt for abandoning her once more disappeared from his shoulders, he did. Laughter and joy become a presence he slowly grew into, the strange companionship provided by the men of Side B healing the wound caused by his past and Akagawa. Finding out he'd opened up only to get hurt again had the inverse effect of what he expected: he cherished his memories of New York more than he despised them. He'd warmed up to Yuki and Chloe, and when Ken came back, he was just as ready as this man he'd come to think of as a little more than a friend.

But sex?

"I suppose."

"And it doesn't matter what they are or who they are if you want to be close to them.” Ken worded too quickly once Aya nodded in acquiescence. "What I'm trying to say is... It doesn't matter if you want to do this or that, or if you don't want to. I-" He gulped, hard. His Adam's apple bobbed up an down. "I want to be close to you. Doesn't matter what you want to do... Just... Hanging out like this is fine.”

“If you want to justify yourself, don't,” Aya said, not unkindly. “You should come to your own terms first.”

“Well, you started it. But yeah, I guess it’s no use me talking to you if I don’t know what I want yet, huh? But what I do know for sure is, well…” He gestured towards his hands with his head. “This. This is what I want from you, if- if that’s ok with you.”

“It is. You aren’t looking for something else, are you?"

"Jeez Aya. I can make do with my hand just fine, you know? It's not like I'm Yohji or something. I... Ah. I don't exactly have the.. Experience. I mean, I do, but it wasn't the best experience. I wasn't.... I wasn't myself back then."

"And what if you have your hands tied up?"

"Maybe that's why I want my hands tied up," Ken shot back without thinking. “Now get the hell out of here before you embarrass me further, won’t ya?"

Aya wasn’t looking forward to abandoning Ken that night - how strange it was, that their time spent in silence there weighted more than their exchanged words, and Aya felt like he knew more of Ken from the way he tested his bonds and shifted his wrists than by the words that came out of his mouth - but after their exchange, it was a good idea.

The mattress dipped in before returning to his original place once Aya got up. He didn’t enjoy the chill that crept down his spine. Ken slid his body towards him in an attempt to trap the warmth that ebbed away.

“Are you going to think about this?”

“A lot,” Ken laughed bitterly. "You better pray we ain’t getting into a mission so soon, or else I’m going to fuck it up.”

“That bad, uh?”

“Not really,” he shrugged. “It’s, uh… I think it’s the most we’ve ever talked. It’s good to know you trust me to have your back. No matter what.”

“No matter what.” Aya mused on it. “As long as you trust me.”

This time, Ken’s smile was genuine.

“We make a good team, don’t we?”

Yes. Yes, Aya was starting to believe that they did.


	3. Ken II

Mamiya lived in a terrifying apartment complex near the city. At six in the afternoon, there was no way to avoid the traffic, the noise, or the influx of people moving towards every direction but ultimately getting in his way. Ken had always felt odd in a small town, where it was clear he didn’t belong to every person who whispered to each other in the market - _Isn’t it the guy from the flower shop?_ Flowershop being the first word he’d learnt in english. But the more crowded the streets became, the more his anonymity bothered him. Getting shoved from one side to another was a casual thing from Koneko, back in the day, but there, it lacked the warmth. England was a dreary cold, wet place, and Ken didn’t appreciate the way his sneakers squished against the soaked floor when he hadn’t seen the sun in a whole week. 

Not that it was all that horrid, he mused. It wasn’t like him, seeing only the bad side of things. England had been nice from the moment he’d met Aya to the moment O’Brien stared at him and realized he was done for. The bloodshot eyes sliced into him as easily as he’d sliced into Jonathan. As long as there was a part of Ken carrying his dead, they’d follow, so Ken couldn’t shake off the feeling of being trailed everywhere. 

In the crowd, it got worse.

Ken pondered about blowing off Mamiya. A _gain_. It’d be unacceptable, since he’d phoned her in advance, sitting through the scolding as he apologized for not showing up without an early notice all the other times. He even bowed, despite the physical impossibility of Mamiya watching him through the phone. She’d always been the one to call him first. Except this once.

Without an umbrella in hand and the mass of clouds announcing impending rain, Ken hit the asphalt faster, turning his walk into an uneasy jog. In the end, he showed up earlier than expected, but thankfully dry under her porch. Mamiya opened the door before he even had time to reconsider ringing the bell.

"Hidaka-san," Her face brightened as she laid eyes on him. The sizzling sound of a soft shower turning into a downpour made her lean forwards, spying on the outside before hurrying Ken under her hoof. "It's been a while."

Ken slipped his shoes off on the hallway, dragging himself inside as he contemplated running all the way back in the rain. Now that he was actually there, it should've been easier for him to greet the woman and sit down. Mamiya-san was always kind to accept his visits, despite his usual tardiness in warning her. Mostly, he suspected, because he barely bothered showing up at all. So she'd to take every opportunity that presented itself.

Not that he was such a great visitor to have.

"Yeah, sorry." He rubbed the back of his head. Mamiya pushed a towel against his chest. Once the smell of rain and dirt had been scrubbed off of his skin, his nostrils flared at the scent of herbs, warming up his insides as they slowly cooked someplace else. Mamiya wore casual clothes as she always did, perhaps because she knew better than to dress professional in Ken's presence. But he'd never seen her in an apron. It enhanced her motherly air, despite her insistence at being just above forty and the grey speckles on her hair, a trick of the light.

 "Did I catch you in the middle of lunch?"

Mamiya nodded, taking back the towel and cleaning her hands on the apron.

"Have you eaten already?" She laughed as he twisted his face in disgust. "Oh. Oh, _no_. I take it that Nana's been cooking again?"

"Ugh… Yes. Don't tell her I said that, though. As far as I know, Chloe's her favorite target. Please don’t draw attention on me."

"Don't worry, Hidaka-san." Mamiya winked at him. "I take patient confidentiality seriously."

Ken tossed his bag to the side, hitting the couch as she excused herself to turn down the fire. The slow burn would make her chicken tastier, she promised him, so there was nothing to worry about. She was on a diet, anyways. It'd only benefit her if she substituted a meal for tea - and he would drink some to warm up, wouldn't he? Her tea was divine. Afterwards, there was no way he'd remember the taste of his lunch.

He nodded all the way through, the corner of his lips tugging upwards awkwardly as he forced himself to smile. Mamiya did make an excellent tea. Ken figured she expected to connect with him through his stomach… And she was absolutely correct. Living in a foreign land forced him to exercise his culinary skills if he wanted to eat _real food_ , but Mamiya was the one to suggest him cooking, in the first place, although his homemade lunch was never as good as her own. She didn’t bother with japanese food most of the time - it’s troublesome, she’d told him, pinching the bridge of her nose as she tried to explain how cooking _rice_ was difficult, and why the heck wouldn’t she buy a damn rice cooker then? - but even so, she was the opposite of Nana in that field.

It made him feel guilty about never visiting, but wallowing in self pity for another member of KR’s staff was just plain stupid. 

When Mamiya came back, juggling an expensive tea set in both hands and kicking the door open, she looked fairly normal for a woman her age. Ken wondered if he’d live enough for some brat think of him as an old guy. Mamiya was handsome, in a sort of plain way. She didn’t bother with makeup - or at least she didn’t bother applying makeup for Ken, which was an entirely different case - but she held herself graciously. It was hard to think of her as a woman. She was like a nun in that sense.

Ken was the one who served their tea once Mamiya rushed to the kitchen for cookies, cradling his cup as the heat seeped through his fingers. The warmth was pleasant enough for him to relax, the blend of spices sweet but refreshening. Ken never felt out of place in her living room. She didn’t complain about him stepping on the furniture or sitting with his legs crossed on the couch.

When she arrived, Ken was ready. 

“So.” Her cup clinkered as she deposited it on the table, sitting on the opposite side of Ken. “What brings you here?”

“Same as always, I guess.” Ken shrugged.

“Do you still have trouble sleeping?”

“Yeah, but I’m trying to deal with it on my own.”

She looked - genuinely - surprised at that.

“Really? I was worried you were going to run my supplies dry, you know? But you shouldn’t just stop your medication at once. By the way-” She stopped for air and Ken knew what was coming. “How are you on that? You’ve missed your last appointment.”

Ken stared at his feet like a naughty child.

“You should’ve called.”

Ken flushed. Impressive. Being over twenty, and still capable of getting red on the ears. Mamiya was skilled at the stern look nuns had been giving him ever since he was five. Releasing cockroaches in a church and skipping his appointments were two different levels of mischief, but there was something godly about Mamiya. Like a priest in a confessional. 

That was the point of therapy, he supposed. 

“I know.”

“Is there any bottle you need me to refill?”

“No,” he shook his head forcefully. “I’m not stupid, you know. I didn’t stop it all at once.”

“Of course you’re stupid. Don’t change your medication without consulting me!”

Mamiya didn’t have a license. What she did have, though, was a cabinet filled with prescription drugs that had never been accepted into the market, and enough knowledge on the Orphan Drug for her to die if she were to ever leave Kriptonbrand. Ken didn’t know if KR had just pushed them on her for their shared nationality, or if she did have any actual experience in the field. She knew what she was talking about, though - at least concerning the meds. In his mind, Ken had it that Mamiya had been some sort of drug overlord before being swayed into Kriptonbrand. A drug overlord who baked cookies on her spare time, which wasn’t as strange as Aya, who was into assassination and ikebana.

“You should talk to someone,” KR said, his conversational tone hiding a veiled order. Talking was just something they didn’t do at Kritiker. Ken appreciated it. The learning curve for sharing with strangers seemed almost impossible to follow through at times, and countless had been the hours Ken talked amenities with Mamiya. About his favorite teams. The horrid weather. Nana’s food - and how much he missed home. He never really saw it derailing into his job before it did, his hands trembling against his thighs as he tried not to cry. It was so pathetic. But she’d understood that too, and made him feel bad whenever he wasn’t being honest with her - although that wasn’t really her fault, just years being raised by strong women.

“Which pill did you stop and how did you do it?”

“Just the sleeping one.” Ken didn’t know how to say its name, but Mamiya knew what he was talking about. “And I did it gradually, is that alright?”

“Did you feel any adverse reactions? How are you sleeping now?”

Ken mused on that.

“Better.”

“Well, I’m glad to hear about it, though I know better than be asking you if you’re getting the full eight hours-” Ken whined at that and she laughed. “How many?”

“Six in a good day.”

“And usually?”

Ken cocked an eyebrow, tilting his head to the side as Mamiya stared intently at him.

“Four?”

“I don’t like the interrogation at that.”

“They’re really good four hours, though.” Ken knocked on the table for a better representation. “Solid.”

Mamiya sighed and massaged her forehead. Ken wondered how she’d react if he told her why he was sleeping better. He shouldn’t, not with the memory of the O’Brien brothers imprinted into his head. It wouldn't take long before Kase showed up again.

If it wasn’t for Aya, he’d have been back earlier. Another junkie, just like Yohji and Jonathan, the whole lot of them.

“So no nightmares?”

“I didn’t say that.” Ken bit the corner of his mouth. “In any case, barely any. I’m sleeping much better now, so I thought I should just make an effort.”

“If that’s how you feel. Just don’t think you need to do it, alright? There’s nothing wrong if you need your medicine for sleeping. I was kidding about my supplies,” she added, as if he couldn’t understand it. Maybe he really couldn’t. Her voice grew softer. Mamiya leaned forward and stared at him. “They’re fully stocked. I made sure of that before working on the new leads in the case. Hidaka-san. I understand you were responsible for leading the last mission that brought us new information on the Orphan Drug?”

Ken recoiled. Mamiya understood that was a subject he didn’t want to pursue and leaned back, smiling gently.

“In any case, congratulations. You understand you’re helping many people, don’t you?”

“Hmn. Yeah.” He fidgeted with his cup. Ken was sure Mamiya would ask him about it once her hand crossed the table, but she only made it for the teapot. 

“More tea?”

Ken held his cup for her with both hands together. 

They sat in uncomfortable silence Mamiya was used to by now. While Ken pondered what he ought to say, his eyes flew towards the calendar standing on top of her desk. It wasn’t nowhere large enough and Ken was under the impression he wasn’t supposed to acknowledge it, but his eyes were sharp and focused, and he couldn’t very well unsee it, could he? It faced the door, as if it’d been abandoned that way.

His visit was circled in black. Or at least, he assumed it was his visit. The previous days had been crossed, but a couple of weeks past, the day he’d killed Jonathan was marked red.

“Is Aya coming here?” The thought slipped into his mind as if Ken had already made a place for it there. Mamiya trailed his gaze with her eyes, turning her body away from his just so she could see what he was talking about. She strained her eyes, clearly unhappy about her recklessness. 

“Are you surprised?” Mamiya opted for questioning, instead of defensive.

“I didn’t mean to look,” he apologized sharply. It wasn’t his fault the calendar was there. Mamiya should know better than to rely on someone paid to notice such things to be blissfully unaware. “This was when… Well, forget it,” he said, half hoping she would not. She could. She was skilled just like that; Ken kept finding himself babbling about thoughts he never wanted to voice in her presence. All it would take was for her to guide the conversation someplace else.

Instead, she folder her hands on top of her apron.

“Why do you think it was Aya?”

“Why would Yuki be here?” Yuki had nothing to do with that case. None of the others did, either, and he knew Mamiya was only assigned to them for their shared language. Maybe Kriptonbrand had better therapists. Ken wouldn’t know. His english wasn’t getting any better and he didn’t feel like learning.

“It could have been any other appointment.”

Ken nodded, the muscles in his jaw tense. 

“But it wasn’t, was it?”

He knew, as soon as he’d said it, that he was right.

Intuition. Chloe would mock him. Ken didn’t understand logic. There was no information filed for later use, no link between the sort of thing it’d have been easy for Aya to explain. For him, the connections just happened. As if he was just smart enough to understand why, but not how. 

Everyone in his life was so damn organized. He was _wrong_ for not keeping tab on his kills. His feelings raged inside him, burning out the second they flared. Chloe didn’t understand, and he could hear Aya speaking - “Be rational.” Like it didn’t matter. Like Ken would never be done killing people he knew and should just get used to it. He was going to run out of targets real soon.

“There’s no point in denying, then.” Thank God for a small comfort. “Yes, he was here. Fujimiya-san is very dedicated to his appointments.” _Unlike you._ But that went without talking.

“Did he talk about me?”

Maybe he was being a little self centered, but Aya had no other reason to talk to Mamiya. Not that day. Aya didn’t have any particular feelings about murdering people. Jonathan O’Brien was a job. Aya wouldn't run off to therapy after cutting of the thorns from their bouquets. 

It stung, and the fact that he felt hurt about it was something Ken wasn’t ready to acknowledge. What the hell, right? Mamiya-san was supposed to know about things. That was her job. Ken trusted her not to go running her mouth to KR later because the whole _point of it_ was that KR was not Persia. He’d even confided in her things most people didn’t know of. Kase. Yuriko. The thing was, he’d talked about people he’d had problems with. Aya wasn’t supposed to be talking about _him_.

“Would you feel comfortable if I revealed the content of our conversations to others, Hidaka-san? If you have questions, you should ask him yourself.”

That made him pause.  Ken - who’d jumped so high he’d been standing for the past couple of seconds - fell back into the couch, shoving his own resentment and hurt down his throat and wrapping it in a tight bundle that sat in the pit of his stomach. His cup had flown and shattered against the oak table, spilling everywhere.

He stared at the sad splatter of tea.

“I’m sorry about that,” he mumbled. Mamiya accepted the apology with a mournful glance towards the stained wood. She picked up a small towel from the set and dried the tea, minding the shards of porcelain, but the faint, dark-colored spot remained there no matter how much she scrubbed. “I guess I don’t like the idea of someone blabbering about me behind my back.”

“Are you afraid he’d tell me something I don’t know?”

“No.” Ken sunk his head against a splayed palm. Aya had looked so assured that night. Ken forgot Aya wasn’t made of stone sometimes. With him, Ken knew everything would turn out just fine. He should just toughen up. Ken’d always thought himself strong - and he was - he just couldn’t be strong right at that moment. Aya deserved for him to be normal; Aya deserved one goddamn friend in there, and Ken had managed to fuck that up, too. The O’Brien brothers were dead and the only thing that could stop him from shaking was Aya’s grip around him. “That isn’t it. But he… I don’t want to bother him with my problems. And it looks like that’s all I’ve been doing, if he’s coming here to talk about it.”

“I believe,” Mamiya treaded on carefully, “Fujimiya-san is very happy you trust him, Ken.”

The use of first name shocked him into looking up, more than her revelation about Aya. Not that - yeah, she wasn’t really supposed to be talking to him about how Aya felt, specially if she knew it for real. But a lot of his problems revolved around him lately.

“To be honest, I’m a little surprised you chose to talk to him. It’s nice to hear you’ve been confiding in someone else.”

“He’s a reliable guy.” Ken stretched and laid back on the couch. “But I can never tell what he’s thinking.”

“Have you tried asking him?”

“He said. Hmn. He said he cared about me.”

“Will it suffice?”

Mamiya adjusted a lock of hair behind her ear. She was awfully perceptive. Or maybe Aya had just appeared on her doorstep one day and went “Hey. My partner wants to be restrained every now and then. How fucked up is that?” Granted, that didn’t sound like Aya at all. It didn’t change the fact that Aya was blunt like a hammer. Hell. If Aya had been the one to come up with their arrangement,  Ken’d have freaked out and talked about it to the nearest person available. 

He was holding his breath without realizing so. Ken exhaled and curled his hands into fists, driving the nails through his jeans.

“I’ve been demanding a lot of him.”

“Hidaka-san, that’s his decision to make.”

What if Aya wasn't comfortable telling him no? What if Aya didn't - how conceited was that, to believe Aya didn't want to lose him, when Aya was the one to leave him in the first place?

But Aya had told him he _cared_. Ken didn't want Aya to do anything because he cared for him as a friend, and felt compelled, and why the hell would he think Aya, of all people, would feel obliged to do anything because of _Ken_?

He wasn't that important. 

(But, a voice told him, sounding oddly like Kase, don't you want to be? Not that Aya should go out of his way to do things for you. Of course not. Wouldn't it be nice, though, to be special for someone?)

"I might be testing the limits of our friendship," he told her, his voice strained. His throat contracted until talking became the hardest thing he was supposed to do. Not even filling his cup again helped it. He downed another gulp of tea and the warmth burnt him all the way to his stomach.

"On purpose?"

"I don't want him to leave me again. Or maybe I do," Ken realized. "And I want him to go before things become more complicated."

Mamiya left her chair. Ken only noticed when the couch dipped near him. When he turned to the side, Mamiya's knee was brushing on his leg. Close. Not right, and nowhere near healthy for the two of them, he guessed, but not unwanted.

The last therapist he knew - Ken fought the urge to laugh - had killed children instead of fixing them. She'd also tucked him in for sleeping and scolded him when the anger for the loss of his mother caused him to hit the kids who made fun of him. He'd spend his first, motherless Christmas hidden in the back of her gown until it was gift time, and he was sure he wasn't going to get any presents for being a bad kid anyway, but Santa left him a round shaped package with a soccer ball inside it.

Ken grabbed Mamiya's hand and she held his own back.

"Do you like him?"

"Yeah. I like him a lot."

"He likes you too, Ken."

"I know." _But I don't think he likes me the way I like him._ Even if you could even measure how much you felt about someone, quantity didn't account for everything else. 

Mamiya squeezed his hand in return. The rain pounded on the windows. Ken wore three layers of clothing to protect himself from the weather. When Mamiya rubbed her thumb in circles against his wrist, she felt nothing. 

Maybe Aya hadn’t told her, Ken hoped. Please. Let someone in this world still think I’m not a freak.

“What are you going to do about it?”

“Honestly?” Ken flashed her a smile. “I was hoping things would sort themselves out. I know it’s wrong,” he corrected himself in a rush. “He has to wait for me all the damn time. It’s infuriating. If only I wasn’t so slow… It’s like he’s a whole game ahead of me.”

“You’re a lot smarter than you give yourself credit for.”

Ken blinked. That wasn’t a direction he was expecting their conversation to head.

“What?”

“It’s true. Do you think Fujimiya-san would be so patient with someone he considered dumb?”

“Sometimes I just wait until people spell things for me,” Ken shrugged.

“You aren’t stupid. But you might be a little spineless.” Her smile illuminated the room. Ken was certain this wasn’t the sort of thing she was entitled to say - what if he developed (another) issue?! But Ken couldn’t get mad at her. 

“That’s something people don’t usually accuse me off.”

“It’s fine being however you are. Fujimiya-san likes that person.”

It was true. But he couldn’t force Aya into waiting for him all the time. How could he not want being left alone when he was the one who kept making Aya hang in there? Until Ken understood what he lived for. Until Ken understood he wanted to be with Aya. He was direct, too, but now he was skirting around the subject because it grew too… real. 

“Mamiya,” he said quietly. “I love him.”

“There, there. It wasn’t so hard, was it?”

 _Don’t you think it’s weird?_ He couldn’t offend Mamiya by asking. He held her hand until an alarm clock started beeping, startling the two of them into action. Mamiya jumped with vitality.

“The chicken must be ready. Will you stay over for lunch?”

“No,” he smiled, giving himself away before she could frown. “An early dinner, maybe.”

Yeah. Dinner sounded good.


	4. Aya II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is unedited. I've been through so much with Chapter 4 (including the loss of the file once I was nearly done with it), that I figured out I'd never move on if I don't leave it as it is.  
> I've been also going through some pretty rough days lately, so this is an attempt at cheering myself up a little.

Aya found Ken tying his shoelaces by the doorstep.

 

He doubled back, but Ken had caught a glimpse of him already, heading into the kitchen instead of outside, as he'd meant to. Ken leaned back a second too late for their eyes to cross, arm resting against the floor as he nearly turned upside down - and that’d been the most attention Ken’d given him in one week. They hadn't actually chosen not to see each other, although Aya could've wondered about Ken's readiness in the mornings and strained agenda.

 

Aya was forced to admit that this meeting had been perhaps a little more unintentional than the casual reasons that kept them from each other.

 

It was nine in the morning, already late by their standards, though Aya was hoping to make up for it going for coffee outside. Aya blamed a late night, and a lack of skill with the kitchen appliance that could be easily excused on a bright Sunday. His warm bed. The sunrays, barely filtered by the curtains, that did more to comfort than entice. An exquisite restaurant which he'd meant to visit, and had a full English breakfast menu.

 

He'd not meant to stumble into anyone, but Ken was late, and he'd been crouching over his heels, entirely too concentrated on his task before turning nearly upside down in an obvious attempt to notice if Aya had noticed him first.

 

(Aya couldn't help but watch him, and wait - maybe he had meant to be caught, after all. It was a Sunday and the morning was clear for what had to be the first time in days. He and Ken hadn't  been talking much. And Ken never asked for help.)

 

His fingers still hovered indecisively above the door handle when Ken asked:

 

"I was wondering, are you going to be here for lunch?"

 

It wasn't, on all accounts, an unreasonable question, even taking account that they hadn’t been talking. Mihirogi had the habit of cooking them lunch. They'd the habit of eating out - or Aya had, despite his preference for home cooked meals. Ken was one of the few souls that soldiered on; not by choice, but unlucky shift hours and lack of palate when it came to western food.

 

_("Western dishes are all terrible to me," he'd shrugged it off once. Ken had grown either a taste for Mihirogi's cooking, or a strong stomach. "Besides, have you ever had prison food? Yuck.")_

 

Watching out for the step, Aya crouched on the floor and sat by his side, undignified yet comfortable. Ken blinked a couple of times, interest picked by Aya's decision to join in. A pair of slippers got tucked discreetly to the side; running with shoes indoors was an habit he’d fallen somewhat out of touch with. He wasn’t the only one with the shoes on the front porch, since Aya kept his own as a gesture of solidarity.

 

"Not today, no. Why?"

 

"Oh. It's just that - I ran out of those little miso packets," Ken frowned. "I'm heading out to buy more after I jog a little, so I was thinking I could get other stuff as well. "

 

"What's your idea?"

 

"Cooking? Unless we plan on kidnapping a Yamato Nadeshiko, one of us better learn how to do it, and do it fast. Before Nana kills us all with food poisoning."

 

"Unfortunately, I already made plans for lunch." And sheer impulse prompted him into forfeiting breakfast and saying, before Ken could nod in agreement and part ways once again: “We could run together, if that’s alright with you.”

 

“Uh, I guess.” Ken blinked a couple of times until the offer registered. They were used to sparring together, but a morning jogging was only a pastime, just like lifting weights and hitting the gym. The training provided by Mihirogi was far more exhausting. “Don’t take long to get dressed, though. I won’t wait around a lot.”

 

It took Aya nearly half an hour to get ready, if only because his only light clothes were meant for bloodletting and had seen the edge of a blade far too many times to be considered wearable. The garments he found were new and tucked in the bottom of his drawer. He’d half expected Ken to be gone when he found the man flipping through the channels with a cereal bar hanging from his mouth. He didn’t look less eager, but it took three miles until they started talking - and simply because Ken could not stop himself from looking at Aya, and smiling.

 

"Why are you chuckling?"

 

"It looks like you've just taken up jogging and is overly excited about it."

 

Aya tilted his head to the side, but didn't ask for any explanation.

 

"Your clothes. They're all brand new. I think I can see a label from here," he joked, what prompted Aya into frowning and patting his own back before Ken exploded into laughter.

 

"What's wrong with wearing new clothes?"

 

"Nothing," Ken pressed his lips together.

 

They jogged in companionable silence until trees hid the morning sun, and the only thing to be hear were their feet hitting the paved road that went around the park. It disappeared somewhere up front. The greenery made for a lazy stroll. No wonder Aya caught up to Ken, who wasn't running, Aya guessed, for his benefit.

 

He breathed in, a scent of leaves and the frosty chill of an early autumn in the air.

 

“Did you think about what I said?”

 

How odd. It was silent for a park, no dogs or children around, not even a flock of birds to chirp excitedly at the sound of a human's voice.

 

“Yeah. I’ve been to Mamiya’s.”

 

“How is she doing?”

 

“I guess she hasn’t changed much from the last time you went.”

 

“You’re upset,” Aya said, after they’d crossed the street. He'd planned to take the path around the park, but Ken stopped, confused before picking up his pace and trailing behind Aya this time - perhaps in a foolish attempt to hide his thoughtful expression.

 

Ken was easy to read. It'd have been a refreshing, if not for his obstinacy in keeping himself manic all of the time - if not for his team's benefit, then his own. Aya had minded to say Ken didn't have to be happy all the time. That this bursting excitement he felt sometimes didn't equal happiness, in any case, and even if it did, it wasn't expected of him to smile.

 

Aya suspected Ken's domino mask was a relief from his self-assigned obligation.

 

“I’m not upset.”

 

Aya quirked an eyebrow.

 

“I was upset,” Ken continued. “But I’m just not the type to get mad for too long.”

 

“You overthink and mull over what upsets you.”

 

That earned Aya a jab in his arm that hurt a lot more than Ken intended, judging by his surprised expression. They were running close, Aya realized, which was the reason why Ken had packed some strength in the punch. He’d guessed their distance wrong.

 

Ken didn’t apologize.

 

“I meant mad at you, specifically,” he explained. Ken didn't lie, not purposefully. But it was almost as if conveying his thoughts hurt. “You ain’t Kase or O’Brien or whatever. It’s virtually impossible to stay angry at you.”

 

“I remember someone greeting me with a punch." Aya recalled, amusement turning into an unexpected smile at the memory. They had been children back then. "Looks like you haven’t fallen out of this habit.”

 

“Well, yeah,” Ken rolled his eyes as if telling that, yeah, back in Weiss, Aya was the most nerve grating, selfish asshole he’d ever met. Aya made no objections; they'd have to agree on that. “Seems to me like you’re getting a good deal in keeping my hands tied.”

 

"Are you planning on punching me again?"

 

"I totally should," Ken said; but he didn't, shoving his hands inside his pockets and slowing down. It forced Aya into waiting for him, an impossible task while still running.

 

"Do you want to talk?"

 

They walked side by side. Aya guided him towards the park, earning a murmur of approval once he found a path where they could talk unbothered.

 

"I guess I was a little annoyed that you went to talk to Mamiya, right after the soccer team incident. I assumed… I thought you were talking about me. Bad things. " Ken stared at the sky. He wasn't shying away as much as he sought in the sunlight a warmth Aya wasn't capable - not yet - of giving him. It buried a seed of guilt into his own thoughts, despite his knowledge that it wasn't his, nor Ken's fault, for the matter, that things were the way they were. He didn't enjoy closeness when Ken was touch starved himself. It didn't mean he was repulsed by it; but iKen felt more like himself when Aya held his wrists tightly above his head in bed. Aya imagined they had never been more close than in the night he tore through Ken with his sword.

 

"I realize it's a stupid thing to feel," Ken continued. "Specially when you have to go there anyway. Fuck, I know you see her more than I do! But I guess I was.. Uh, I guess I felt a little nervous about this."

 

Ken touched his own wrists. He twisted his face towards Aya, smiling sheepishly despite the strain in his closed fists.

 

"I guess I like her after all. It's just that I've spent such a fucking long time wishing people wouldn't figure out I kill for a living, y'know. It's a little tiring wondering if someone who knows I'm a bloody murderer will freak out about what I do in my spare time."

 

"I didn't tell her." Aya replied without thinking. He should have. Mamiya might not have been a good woman;  They were all beyond good and evil now. But she was intelligent, and she wouldn't have judged Ken nor Aya for it.

 

"I know."

 

It'd still have felt like betrayal. Aya made a mental note to bother Mihirogi about seeing a new therapist.

 

It was odd that he'd grown to feel this way about someone whom he'd always thought to be his opposite, even when they'd been alike without noticing so - both brash and hot headed, as it often was with youth. They'd grown into two different people, though, and maybe it was Ken's influence that had him smiling more once he'd realized there was reason for happiness. And maybe it was his own influence over Ken that dragged him out of his madness. It wasn't using someone else for a walking cane as it was learning how to walk - and if he or Ken needed to lean again each other for support, he was alright with it.

 

In fact, he thought fondly of it.

 

Ken frowned at him.

 

"Why are you smiling?"

 

"I..."

 

"No, forget it. It's a good thing, right?"

 

Aya nodded.

 

"I suppose."

 

Though the tree branches and thick foliage didn't allow for much sunlight outside the paths delimited by cobblestones, the park was idyllic and so impossibly quiet. It made Aya wonder why he'd never been there before. He wasn't one for nature, but a bench covered by shadows was a good spot for reading - and it was there where he took Ken, sitting side by side, their shoulders brushing against each other.

 

"We did talk about you."

 

Ken tilted his head.

 

"I'm not worried about your sanity," Aya said, and it must've been true. Ken was his own man now. He'd the strength to fight, but he'd also been smart enough to realize you couldn't struggle without being crippled by self-doubt and fear of madness. You fought for your job. Fight against it, and your world crumbled.

 

There was no sacrifice, like Yohji. And there wasn't Takatori Mamoru's blind belief. Aya and Ken didn't go through Weiss unscathed, but scars healed. He glanced at Ken's wrists. Scars healed, and the skin that grew over them was thicker.

 

"Your past was precious to you." And wasn't despair one of the stages of grief? "You're allowed to mourn in your own way. It doesn't make you mad."

 

"It's not just mourning, Aya." Silence hung around them. "Yeah, I'm scared I'll go crazy again, alright? Every night I kill I have to pull myself back and you know it. You have no idea what's like." Ken added almost as an afterthought, a sentence that left a bitter taste to Aya's mouth. It wasn't the first time Ken pushed him away with this wording, and it hurt.

 

Aya wished it didn't pain him to listen to Ken when realizing the only way he could reach Ken was once the man was in his arms.

 

He was so lost in thought he barely registered Ken talking again.

 

"But then I realized I didn't have to do it alone." If Aya was expecting a whisper, he didn't earn it. Ken was earnest when he wanted to speak. Aya thought him to be desperate once. Now, he understood.

 

"But it isn't just me grieving about my fucking messed up friendships. I rather like this one," Ken inched closer, "and I don't want to mess it up, too. But I like you. No. What I want to say is, I love you."

 

Aya never really imagined those were words he'd hear. Yes, Ken had confessed to him, some secrets more urgent than others. In the grand scheme of things, he pictured them all being of the same importance, from words of love to his fears... Intimacy came easy to him when it was between exchanged words. And even if Aya wasn't one for talking, he listened.

 

He must've been looking ridiculously at Ken, because Ken burst out laughing.

 

"Man, I just confessed to you and you're keeping a straight face?"

 

"Was it a joke?"

 

"Well," Ken sought the right answer. He chewed on the bottom of his lip and Aya could see the gears turning in his head. Was it a test? Was Aya leaving him a way out of this mess? But Aya didn't play games. "No?"

 

"You've confessed many things to me before."

 

"Man." Ken's back hit the bench as he spreads his arms upwards. "Aren't you a romantic."

 

"What I meant is that," Aya replied, flustered. "I appreciate that you confide in me."

 

"Appreciate? Huh."

 

"Enjoy it."

 

"Don't worry, I'm not pressing you to say you love me as well."

 

"But I do."

 

That took both of them by surprise.

 

"Ken, I can't say it's romantic, not yet. And it's definitely not sexual-"

 

"But I don't-!"

 

Aya interrupted him before he could embarrass himself.

 

"Listen to me. There are.. I've felt strongly about some persons in my life. You are one of them. I can't say I'm in love with you, but I love you."

 

That made Ken stare at him as if Aya had been out of his mind.

 

"You shouldn't have told me if you weren't prepared to hear something back." Aya frowned.

 

"Yeah, but I was expecting it to be more on the lines of "Are you fucking crazy? Despite the girly name and the stupid haircut I'm a guy!" than..."

 

"Well, I'm glad to learn your true feelings about my haircut," Aya intervened, and Ken looked just so incredibly overwhelmed Aya become afraid of stepping over some line they weren't supposed to cross. He lowered his voice. "Why should it matter that I'm a man?"

 

"Because I'm in love with you, godammit! It's not just- you tell me whatever you feel might not be romantic, but. I don't want you to be confused. I guess I should be honest with you in saying that my feelings definitely are. Romantic, I mean."

 

"Ken, I find it difficult to believe you have the capacity of not being honest. You're very blatant once you understand yourself. But thank you," Aya added once Ken opened his mouth, scandalized. "It's a good quality to have. I don't meet this very much in our line of business, I suppose it's why I enjoy your company...?"

 

That made Ken flush to the tip of his ears. It was endearing.

 

"You don't need to worry about our relationship. I won't push you away for that."

 

"Even if I want to kiss you?"

 

Aya blinked. Yes, Ken was forwards when he wanted to be.

 

"Yes."

 

"Even if I want- more?"

 

So much for insisting he didn't want anything else. Ken was testing him, and the two of them knew it. It was sheer impulse that brought the subject up; after blurting out the words, Ken stared at him as if startled. In any case, he was a man that stood by his decisions. Ken clenched his teeth stubbornly while waiting for his answer. Even if he knew what it was.

 

"You know I can't promise that."

 

"Is it because I'm a guy?"

 

"You know this isn't why."

 

"Is it why I'm not..." Ken waved his hands. "I don't know, is it the way I look? Because I like the way you look. You know, despite what I said about your hair and everything."

 

Ken wasn't questioning him on purpose, but Aya felt his patience wearing thin - as it often did around Ken, but mostly because he and Chloe could be tiring. Ken was ignorant; he lacked knowledge and a good dose of common sense. It shifted from being mildly amusing, to cute, to insufferable and the reason why he and Ken had never gotten along in the first place. Aya had grown more tolerant and less conceited, while Ken had become smarter when dealing with people. It didn't mean they wouldn't clash sometimes. In this case; Aya just didn't feel like explaining himself over and over again. It shouldn't be a concept difficult for Ken to grasp.

 

"I think you're aesthetically pleasing."

 

"Jesus fucking Christ, Aya," Ken sounded angry and red, but he also looked strangely pleased that he was able to fight Aya on it. "Why do you have to speak as if I need a dictionary?"

 

"Because it's what it is," Aya crossed his arms, not feeling so relaxed anymore. Time was passing. He hadn't expected Ken to be so stubborn. (Yes, he did realize the irony) "Your lack of self esteem worries me.”

 

This seemed to calm him down. Ken blinked, "I didn't realize..." and thankfully shut up afterwards. Aya felt sorry for him. Ken looked genuinely puzzled.

 

“For a long while, I thought I was undeserving of love." Aya began. It was a good place to start as any. "I wonder how different things would've turned if I hadn't believed it."

 

"Have you changed your mind?" .

 

"Yes."

 

"Why are you here?" Why aren't you with her, he meant. It took Ken seconds to whisper. His grasp on the bench tightened, turning his knuckles white.

 

Aya shrugged. How typical of him, to imagine someone unworthy because of the blood they carried in their hands. It wasn't in his place to talk, because in the aftermath of their last battle against Schwarz, this was the thought on his own mind. He couldn't bear with the thought of Aya hating him, so he left.

 

How long it took him to understand he hadn't thought of her feelings? It seemed impossible at the moment that she'd miss him. Love him. Their parents were dead and years of her life hadn't been accounted for, an unfair trade when he should've been the one to get hurt.

 

_(She'd have lived on, he knew; she'd pursue the career she'd chosen for herself and healed others instead. Maybe, during the long hours of the night, she'd do it with a heavy heart and think of a family she coudn't save. But she'd build her life supporting herself and the others, giving the world a doctor, and not a murderer. The unfairness of Takatori's plot struck him once again, leaving his mind blank)_

 

 _He_ shouldn't have been the one to be struck down by Takatori, in the end. It was now the obvious outlook he'd missed - she hadn't deserved it, but none of them really did. In a fair world, he'd be waving her goodbye in the airport, together with their parents.

 

In a fair world, men like Takatori would've been dead from the start. Might as well be him the one dealing with them now, so other families wouldn't have to be torn apart. In the end, he couldn't forfeit the life he lead, but the reason he left Aya had nothing - and everything - to do with it.

 

"It's not about me being unworthy. Eyes are turned toward us no matter where we turn to. Schwarz showed me I'm unable to protect my sister."

Ken was startled by that, as if he hadn't actually thought Aya was _afraid_ of not being good enough. Strong enough. It boiled down to power, after all, as it often did. He wasn't naive to believe that the tales of this sleeping beauty would never reach the ears of Rosenstolz once more, but the presence of Aya of Weiss near Aya, the girl that could bring down worlds, was certain to attract unwanted attention. He could cause diversion somewhere else.

 

Despite how little he felt for Takatori Mamoru, now a heir, more than a friend, the young man held enough power to keep Schwarz on a leash, and Japan on his side. He'd grow into Prime Minister soon enough, Aya thought briefly, his influence stretching to the underworld and beyond. Their past together, as well as Takatori's own brand of diplomacy, should be enough to keep anyone looking for his sister on their toes.

 

They wouldn't take her easily, not this time. His ego had taken years to be tamed down enough for Aya to see that he wasn't the one to save her.

 

Perhaps she never even needed to be saved.

"I've told you before, Ken," his voice felt strained. "Whatever you think of yourself, it's got nothing to do with why I can't promise this. Sleeping with you," he added as an afterthought. It was sort of odd, watching Ken redden at the words, when Ken was the one interested himself.

 

"I'm-fuck, I'm too bad at this. Sorry."

 

Aya let out a long sight.

 

"It's okay. Do you understand now?" The thoughts weighted heavily on his shoulders; Aya hadn't been prepared to talk about it. He hadn't managed to let go of Aya entirely.

(He hadn't even managed to let go of her _name_.)

 

Aya stretched until his bones rattled, and groaned with discomfort. He needed to go.

 

"I guess." Ken was lost, but he didn't ask for more than Aya could give. He just nodded, making Aya hope he hadn't shattered any particular illusion of strength Ken had about him. If Ken even had them.

 

Aya didn't fight alone because he thought highly of himself, not anymore. When Ken found him in Kriptonbrand, Aya had been startled to learn, once his friend had begged him for his trust, that he did it because he couldn't afford loss.

 

Not after Weiss. Not after Sena and Kyou, the boys he couldn't save.

 

Not until Ken swooped in with Shion and a promise of fighting side by side.

 

"I'm able to defend myself." Aya added softly. His throat was dry. “And I see you don't need protection. You're all capable as well. This here, too, is also my family."

 

Months after their departure in the airport, a person he hadn't expected to see ever again had given him his unwanted loyalty. Ken had smiled at him, and Aya knew the loss of the people he held dear wasn't a zero sum game. Sena and Kyo were dead. Yohji and Omi, forgotten. But the feelings Aya held for them would be with him forever, _and so was Ken_.

 

"I guess you're a really intense person, Aya" He scratched his cheek with his index finger, appearing to be deep in thought. "That's... good. I'm glad to hear that. You trust me after all, huh... Who'd have guessed."

 

"You, if you weren't thick headed," he cut through his words. Aya got up, dusting his pants and recalling his dignity with all he could muster. "I am running late, though. So I'll leave you to your jogging."

 

As if they really had had any intent to jog in the first place.

 

"Oh, shit. You didn't even get to run. I'm sorry, Aya. I forgot you had business. Are you going already?"

 

"I'm heading back home, first." Home. It had a nice ring to it, even if it wasn't quite true. "I still have to change clothes."

 

"Jesus Aya," he laughed. "What kind of restaurants do they have here that you can't show up dressed however you want?"

 

Aya arched an eyebrow.

 

"What kind of restaurants do you go to?"

 

"Well, I mostly used to go out for noodles in Japan? There was this great place near the flowershop-"

 

"That isn't a restaurant. It's a family business."

 

"Well?" Ken stared at him, crossing his arms in defiance. Honestly. "It's not my fault if you only go to fancy places."

 

"It isn't that fancy, but Chloe doesn't do casual..."

 

That seemed to pick Ken's interest. He perked up at the name, as if it'd been news he wasn't expecting.

 

"Wait, you're going out for lunch with Chloe?"

 

"Are you jealous?" Aya teased, watching Ken’s confusion deepen the frown that wrinkled his brow. Perhaps it hadn’t been such a good idea to…

 

“No, of course not. Why would I-” he stopped mid track. “Oh. Oh…”

 

Aya shook his head, somewhat embarrassed by his own implications. This wasn’t a game he was used to playing. Chloe must’ve been rubbing it off on him.

 

“I’m sorry, forget it.”

 

Contrary to his own expectations, Ken snickered, his lips curving into a hint of a smile. Once the confusion was gone, he looked terribly amused by the joke.

 

“Is it a date, then?”

 

“What?”

 

“You and Chloe and a nice restaurant,” Ken closed his eyes, feigning hurt with a hand splayed over his chest. “And you haven’t even invited me...”

 

Aya must’ve made a sound of protest, because Ken refused to stop.

 

“... to eat all the, uh. Snails. And ground duck meat.”

 

Alright, point taken. Aya granted Ken victory, but only because Ken shudder childishly when mentioning french food. He did grin at a certain moment, teeth showing.

 

“That’s alright, Aya, as much as it pain me to say, you and Chloe have a lot in common.”

 

“I didn’t ask if it was alright with you,” Aya said on impulse because, yes, he wouldn’t. Ken’s intake in his tentative relationship with Chloe mattered, but only as long as it wasn’t clouded by their own inimity.

 

“You asked me if I was jealous.” Ken bit his lip stubbornly.

 

“In my defense,” not that he needed any, “Mihirogi is going with us. Which is why I don’t want to be late, in the first place.”

 

“Nana?” That seemed to surprise Ken. Aya nodded.

 

“Chloe took upon himself the task of saving us from her experimental cooking. He now invites her out as much as reasonable.”

 

“I doubt it. He’s too self centered to think about the rest of us, he’s just trying to save his own ass. And Nana probably knows his intentions.”

 

“Of course. But she doesn’t refuse free, expensive food.”

 

“Bet Chloe invites you out just to share expenses.”

 

Aya pressed his lips together, battling the urge to snicker. Ken stole a look at him and gave in, a small chuckle escaping his throat before he doubled over his stomach and cracked up. Aya was discreet, but Ken ended up with tears on the corner of his lashes.

 

“Jesus.” His face was flush with laughter. “You should leave, Aya. Before Nana is waiting so long that she extracts vengeance upon us during dinner. I’ll do my best cooking so that there are left overs, but I can’t guarantee it.”

 

“I should.” Aya smiled at him.

 

“I’m… Glad you’re having fun here. I mean, as much as you can call this fun,” a trace of emotion crossed Ken’s eyes. “I’m not a spoilsport, alright?”

 

Aya didn’t let apprehension show on his face. Ken talked to him softly, a hint of kindness in his mouth that showed how genuinely happy he was for Aya finding his peace amongst Mihirogi and Chloe and England - and, yes, even himself, because Ken wasn’t so ignorant either to relevate the importance of his place near Aya, despite his lack of love for what his friend held dear.

 

And he didn’t care. Ken was lonely, but he was gentle enough not to resent Aya for it. Which should be natural, after all, but Aya had never expected such… maturity? No - he reasoned. Maturity had nothing to do with the way Ken looked at him, torn between serenity and longing.

 

“You’ll find someone,” Aya said. Green eyes widened in objection, so Aya corrected himself. “A friend, I mean. I understand you miss Omi and Yohji. I do, too. You were closer.” An understatement. “But I do miss them. Chloe and Mihirogi aren’t substitutes. It’s impossible to take someone’s place, you know this. Don’t imagine I don’t understand how you feel because I was, too, a friend.”

 

This must’ve been the most he’d talked with Ken, who shied away, his glance falling by the trees surrounding them. Birds had already started to chirp, wakened by their conversation or by the passing of time, Aya didn’t know.

 

“Chloe isn’t that bad,” Ken granted him, after a minute’s quiet. “He’s like Yohji, only a lot more nerve grating.”

 

“Comparing him to someone else won’t do either of you any good.”

 

“I know,” he replied, eyes turning back to his hands, folded above his lap. Ken struggled not to allow any accusation to his tone. That for Aya it ought to be easier. That he’d never befriended Yohji, not like Ken. Chloe was more interesting, after all. They shared similar interests - their penchant for expensive food and places way above Ken’s standards being one of them. Yohji, himself, favored places with flickering light and noise, something Aya had always abhorred. Chloe had taken him to midnight showings of plays Ken’d have no interest in, nor the willingness to sit still through. They’d gone to recitals and museums (and Ken’s words rang on his ears again - had Chloe always meant it as a date?) and - yes, even shopping together, if Ken’d ever accept that.

 

Perhaps they ought to take Ken with them one day. Definitely not to something that required english skills, which would only upset him, but maybe going out for clothing… Ken’d modeled, once. It was a fact easy to forget.

 

Had he ever liked it, or was only an irritating part of his job? Aya saved the question for later, as he pressed one hand against Ken’s shoulder, gripping it as a manner of support and eliciting a gasp.

 

“You’ll make friends here, you’ll see.”

 

Ken glanced so calmly at him.

 

(He thought Aya was lying)

 

“I have you.”

 

And for the moment it was all that mattered. Before Aya could turn his back on him and leave, or say, “Yes, you do, but you need more than that,” Ken pushed his body forwards, hands sinking in Aya’s hair.

 

They crashed together, despite Ken’s intent not to scare, his body holding back, chest heaving, though not pressing against Aya. The distance between hang on a balance that tipped tipped away once Ken sought his mouth and pressed their lips together.

 

He lingered there, even after Ken twisted on his heels and left.

 

Aya stood in wonder and wild disbelief, gaze fixed on Ken’s back on what happened to be a change of terms for them - until his watch chimed, and Aya, dumbfounded, realized he was already half an hour late for lunch.

  



	5. Chloe I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all forgive me for delaying this chapter so much. As you all probably learned, I'm slow, specially when there's no Ken in the chapter =( Though it was fun to write nonetheless. Chloe is ridiculously offensive and I love him! (Apologies on his behalf)
> 
> Anyway, some new pairings are mentioned. Tags will be updated accordingly.

Despite the thick sole of his leather shoes, Chloe felt Nana’s leg brush against the underside of his foot. He felt her slender ankle, rubbed against the strap of her heel. Chloe slid up, up along her absurdly long legs until his foot rested against her knee. Just then, as easily as uncrossing her legs, Nana caught him trapped between her own feet and pinned his toes down.

Thin as a needle, her high heel threatened to puncture leather and skin alike. Chloe smiled as he gulped down, and the heel pressed harder; Nana rose her foot in turn, bruising against his thigh. Her shoe was dangerously close to his crotch, both arousing and a terrible - terrible idea. She allowed him the feeling of a brush and a press, and the idea of what it’d have felt like if it was her legs, naked but for the pantyhose, pressing against the front of his suit. Chloe had all but relaxed when she lowered her legs and stabbed him in the foot.

“Jesus-”

The waiter did a double take once Chloe hit the table with his closed fist, biting back a grunt of pain. Nana’s soothing motions against his strained hand felt like mockery.

“Shh, darling.” She muttered under her breath. “Behave. What are the others going to think?”

Chloe couldn’t speak between his gritted teeth. He breathed in once, twice and - thankfully - Nana moved her heel aside and he could stretch his toes, blood rushing to them. The urge to take off his shoes and check if there wasn’t any permanent damage was powerful, but Nana was ever more compelling, lips flushed into a pout that promised more pain if he ever dared to act as ungraceful again.

 “Richard promised me the dessert here is fantastic,” she said. “I want to be able to come here again without getting stared at.”

 “Absolutely,” he said, finally, after air came to his chest and he could breathe again. His face burned. A bead of sweat trickled down his neck. 

 Nana taped his hand gently and let go.

“There, there. It wasn’t so bad, was it?”

The waiter, the picture of politeness, drew closer and poured them more water, bless him. Nana wasn’t reasonable when she was left to wait, and Chloe was wondering why he had to be the one to pay for Aya’s lack of manners. Her stomach rumbled and she flushed - “Oh, dear.” She hid her face pressing the cloth napkin against her lips. The waiter produced a menu seemingly out of nowhere.

 “If you aren’t ready to order, sir, m’am, I could recommend our entree…”

Nana allowed the gentleman to finish his sentence at least, before allowing her cutting smile to part his words as she captured the menu between her fingertips. She spared it a single glance before deciding.

 “Sod it. I’m having the salmon, let’s skip the entrees. But do bring that nice bread basket for us.”

“Excellent choice, m’am. What of your companion?”

“The filet mignon,” she intervened before Chloe could answer. He inhaled sharply. Nana knew how little he cared about red meat, yet… “What? I want to sample it too, but you know I’m trying to get my fish right. I assume if I try the salmon I’ll learn how to season it next time, I suppose.”

“What about Aya?” 

“He might yet arrive in time for dessert, I guess.”

 Even Nana’s careless shrug was graceful. The thin strap of her sleeveless dress fell down on her shoulder, exposing a flash of pale skin, and Chloe was too slow - too distracted - to fix it in time. From behind her pince-nez, she glanced at the waiter, who’d been stunned into inaction by the sight.

 “Where’s the wine chart?”

“Oh- yes.” The man faltered for a split second before Nana allowed him to recompose himself, adjusting the strait laced posture all waiters from high-class restaurants adopted. He showed no fear from reprieve, although his eyes strayed elsewhere. “Apologies, I’ll be straight back.”

Nana wasn’t inclined to let him go, despite he obvious pleasure at being noticed. No - more than that, she loved the discomfort her beauty caused in others. She’d fashioned her looks into a weapon and had always been quite pleased to use it. After all, she hardly had the opportunity to wield her real tools of trade.

(Chloe resented how similar they were.)

It was just their luck, then, Aya chose this particular moment to arrive. As soon as the hostess showed him the table, he flopped into the chair - quite startled that he’d done so, inwardly. He flinched and stilled once Chloe and Nana’s eyes were on him. It’d have been too much of Chloe to assume, of course, but wasn’t he flushing…?

Chloe turned an analytical eye to him. Fresh out of the shower, for the looks of it, with both his clothes and hair in disarray. Aya preened his shirt as best as he could, self conscious of the state he’d been in. But even if he tried to, it’d have been hard for a man like him to sport the looks of anything other than conscious effort. He was hardly disheveled, of course. Aya looked like a model who’d tried too hard at being carefree.

 “I’m sorry I’m late.”

 “I’m glad you noticed.” Nana twirled her water glass. The mood brightened once the waiter came back with the wine chart and she’d her pick - choosing the bottle for the three of them. Chloe envied Aya’s fashionable lateness; he was able to pick his own lunch, and opted for some shrimp pasta to go with Nana’s choice in wine. The bread basket and the wine arrived earlier than any explanations for Aya’s tardiness, once again with a sharp apology from the waiter, and Nana busied herself in taking small, delighted bites, in what she hoped to be a compromise between her need to be presentable, and to satiate the embarrassing groans from her belly.

“I’d assume you had nothing to eat for weeks.”

“Chloe,” Aya called him out, as if he had any right to, after delaying their lunch by nearly a full hour. Chloe ignored him. Nana took the bait, and looked endearingly red.

“It could’ve been. Some of us have strenuous work to do. Just because you had no tasks to complete in two weeks it doesn’t mean some of us don’t have their hands full.” As an after thought, she added. “You really should try this bread. It’s made daily in the house.”

“It’s actually well done,” Aya came in her defense, a vote in favor of ignoring his own mistake. He tore a buttered roll in two and brought it to his lips, savoring a flavor he was growing into. Aya ate out more often than not, and finding their tastes to be similar made Chloe delighted.

He compromised at last, taking one bite. A white flag of peace, gallantly accepted. He felt proud of himself. 

Nana and Aya were right, it was delicious. Chloe had been starved to death during missions before, and even then he’d rather die than experience terrible food - Nana’s exempted. There was hardly something else these days that suited Chloe as well as Nana and Aya’s company. Nana, because her elegant presence could brighten any day. And Aya, handsome as he were, brought something out of Nana Chloe himself was never able to extract. Some feminine quality of vulnerability, he supposed. Chloe enjoyed it greatly. It eased a relationship that had been compromised by his lousy work ethics. Nana could never quite forgive Chloe’s charm. Aya’s own subtle beauty worked wonders to remind her that, she, too, could drop the pretenses of a work relationship and appreciate looks from distance. They made a striking group, the three of them. It was downright cruel of Aya to never look quite as stricken by the other two as Nana and Chloe did. 

“I hope we aren’t hear to discuss work.”

“Oh, but we are.”

“What a wonderful way to ruin a perfectly decent meal.” 

“Darling, I only have praises for you. Well,” she rose the glass towards Aya. “One of you. Thanks to you and Ken’s combined efforts, we are much closer to our goal than we first imagined.”

Without a care to explain further, Nana swirled the wine like a connoisseur, inhaling the bittersweet scent before sipping. Chloe imitated in a less refined way, gulping down the glass so he could feel the sting down his throat. How unpleasant. Once, he’d heard the difference between the american and the french was that the first accepted to talk about work over dinner, but never about sex, while the later would find it much more scandalizing to talk about business. If he’d to take Aya and Nana on account, he’d guess the japanese had much more in common with the americans than he first imagined. 

“I imagine I, Michael and Free didn’t help at all.”  
  
“Don’t be so sour, Chloe. The O’Brien deal went far better than expected. We should be hearing about a package in, say… The next week, I hope. Not only we had plenty of leads, it’s coming almost running into our hands.”

Ah. So the massacre in the soccer stadium had paid off, in the end? Chloe felt no pity for junkies, but it’d been a dark affair. Chloe didn’t take himself for a butcher. Killing people who couldn’t fight back was distasteful. In any case, whatever this ‘package’ was, it had to be more important than some ghost track or small lead about the Orphan Drug.  Nana displayed clear signs of excitement about it.

“I’d shower Ken with compliments as well, only he doesn’t seem inclined to hear them. I hope you can convey how satisfied we are, leader?” She winked towards Aya, a hint of secrecy in the gesture that didn’t convey the same tone as it did when Nana winked for him. There was nothing flirtatious about the way her long lashes uncovered her eyes. Aya had long lashes as well. His purple eyes were prettier. There was no way she could compete and win - and it looked like she knew that. 

“I don’t think he would appreciate.”

“Well, so be it,” Nana slid back against her chair. “But our employees’ satisfaction is important to us. And you know... There are people who’ll sleep safe and sound because of what happened. Make sure he knows that.”

Aya shrugged.   

“What are we dealing with, exactly?” Chloe cut in. Nana glanced towards the nearby tables. Not a single one where within hearing range. Nor the waiter, already spooked by Nana’s statuesque figure and stunning good looks.

She pressed her lips together.

“A couple is arriving from Japan with an interesting parcel on their hands. Other than that, I’m not allowed to explain so soon.”

“Japan? It seems like every dose of excitement we get comes from over there.” Chloe said, and he didn’t miss how Aya cocked one eyebrow at that, more engaged than he’d been five minutes prior. He leant forward; Chloe smiled. “You have to concede it’s a great coincidence. For me, at last.”

“Not at all. I just find it surprising that the trouble that originates over there still seeks me here,” Aya said.

“Oh? I wasn’t aware that you were running,” Nana grinned to herself, making Aya flush harder. It was a curious sight, but pleasing, nonetheless. Chloe enjoyed being in the company of attractive, intelligent people. Even if they did talk about business.

“It isn’t running. This has nothing to do with…?” The lack of continuation indicated Schwarz, or Eszett, or any of the ridiculously named groups Aya had met overseas. The japanese, Chloe mused, didn’t know their german.

“The sort of trouble you were used to? No, there’s nothing supernatural about it. It’s about a pharmaceutical company involved in our recent cases, if I have to be honest. We’ve tracked a few informations, traced some residues back to their sources, contacted interested parties…”

Nana ceased talking once the waiter came closer with the trays, and they all changed the subject to something harmless. The food was sublime indeed. Instead of stringy, his plate of meat was buttery and soft, melting in his mouth in an explosion of flavor that had nothing to do with grease, but with careful seasoning. If only Nana cooked that way...

The topic sidetracked to the events in town, and to their accomplishments that had nothing to do with dead bodies. Nana ranted about a play he’d seen years before, in Munich, before they got into a heated discussion of casting choices. Aya didn’t collaborate much beyond expressing interest in the English version before commenting any further, which was a sensible opinion, and not before long they were digging into their desserts.

“Gentlemen.” Nana excused herself, bringing the cloth napkin to her lips and staining it red. She tossed it over her plate, and even such a careless gesture was graceful in her hands. “If you’ll forgive my absence, Richard has need of me.”

“Just before the bill arrives. How convenient.”

“Speaking as the one paying your wages, Chloe, you’re welcome for the lunch.” 

“Richard is the one paying us. So knowing this, Nana, please be gentle on the old man. I don’t have a pension plan, and if you tease him too much, he’ll die of a heart attack before his age gets to him.“

Aya looked properly scandalized, while Nana only adjusted her glasses. 

“Don’t worry, Chloe, I’ll never treat him like I treat you. Unlike someone I know, he isn’t such a huge disappointment.” 

Aya and Chloe were left alone to the fading sound of her clattering heels.  They seemed to clap to her coup-de-grace. Chloe lifted his credit card before Aya could utter a word.

“So. You and Mihirogi.” 

“She left me stranded here. Can you believe this woman?”

“I can drive you home.”

Chloe would’ve rather be caught red handed than in Aya’s ridiculous Porsche. Aya was a man grown, yet the silver gleam of the teenage sports car was as gaudiest as it got. He always imagined Aya to be a man of refined tasted. It was mostly true, except in matters of cars and Ken.

“Ah. Well, thank you. But to be honest, I was hoping to see an exhibit on Baroque art.”

“I could drive you there as well.” 

Chloe sighed. He wondered how terrible it’d look for him to catch a cab nearby. He still could play it off as being too kind.

“If you insist. At least have the decency to stay and take a look with me.  It’s supposed to stay briefly in England before it flies back to Italy. Not an opportunity you should miss.”

Aya’s eyes glinted in amusement.

“Is it a date, then?” 

“In my experience, dates with teammates usually involve getting trampled by high heels. Believe me,” he adopted a conspiratory tone. “It isn’t as fun as it sounds.”

Once the bill was settled and their coats were on, the only matter left to attend to was the 45 minute trip to the museum. Chloe slid his sunglasses on and hoped no familiar figure would recognize him riding shotgun in a Porsche.

“Why don’t you have your windows tinted?”

“Hm? I don’t take my car to missions, so I don’t see why this is necessary.” And under his breath, Aya added, darkly and without further explanation: “It’s a mistake I’ll never repeat.”

Chloe could only hope Aya’s car back in Japan had been something classier.

Jesus Christ.

The rest of the ride was devoid of any incidents, if only because Chloe was in control of the radio and jumped through every news’ channel. He caught Aya’s subtle interest in the reports from their last mission; eyes reflected in the mirror as they shifted away from the road when words about the drug scandal where caught between pop tunes and game scores. Chloe stuck to a classic music station - couldn’t really go wrong with that - and avoided talking about murder.

They were overdressed for the museum, considering the restaurant they’d been in before. While it was a paid exhibit, most of the visiting guests were comprised of students from local schools, pushing together for group pictures and ignoring the teachers in favor of chatting. Aya looked fondly at the high school girls, and they looked back.

“You really shouldn’t do that. People are going to think you’re a pervert." 

He blinked at that, surprised that anyone could ever entertain such dark thoughts about him. Aya wasn’t oblivious, but he ignored the meaning behind the giggles as they walked past the line reserved for appointed visits. 

“These uniforms show a lot of skin, but I was hoping you had a different type.”

“Chloe.” Aya sighed unapologetically. “You know of my sister, don’t tease me about that.”

Chloe shrugged.

“Isn’t she of age now? I bet she’s real cute.”

“Yes,” Aya’s voice was resolute. If she looked anything like Aya, she would be stunning.  Chloe wondered if they had the same purple to their eyes. “And I’m glad she was left in Japan.”

“Don’t be mean. I don’t do cute, anyways.”

They paid their entrance fee and bid goodbye to the girls waiting in line. Some of them had clearly heard Chloe’s words and looked rather disappointed - moreso because of the lost view than anything else, once they disappeared behind the entrance door. Chloe had been seventeen too, once, and he knew it was an age where you’d find something more interesting to look at in a museum than old paintings.

“I…” Aya gave up on whatever he was going to say, choosing to entertain himself with the exhibition’s folder. He read through the entire thing - which happened to take an ungodly amount of time, since Aya still had trouble with the latin alphabet. He’d never tell Ken, whose english was moderate at best and unintelligible at worst, but Aya couldn’t read very well.

Chloe would rather look at the pictures to understand them. Art was something you felt, not read about.

They had wandered into the third room when Aya startled him.

“I always thought interpersonal relationships within a team were frowned upon.” 

The crowd had dwindled ever since a crossroad gave the visitors a choice between a late period Baroque, which gave a more Rococo feel, and an earlier period Baroque. While the occasional teacher was eager to explain the difference to their students, most people opted for the lighter style. Chloe eyed Caravaggio in the folder Aya was holding, and dragged him to what, in his modest opinion, consisted in the best part of the exhibit. Even if he did appreciate women in frilly dresses and rosy cheeks.

“If you mean Nana, it’s inadvisable and a Bad Idea, with capital letters.”

“And if I’m talking about you?”

Chloe lost the opportunity for a sarcastic remark as he got caught in the momentum, surprise stealing the words right from under his tongue. He clicked it against the ceiling of his mouth, abhorring the idea of a late comeback. 

“I could not advise against it. In fact, I haven’t received any complaints.”

“Except for Mihirogi’s.” 

“Yes, except for Nana’s. We had a lovely evening,” his voice felt strained even to his own ears. “And she’s a magnificent woman.” 

“Ah,” Aya breathed out. Like a sigh of understanding. Chloe could not bear someone as assertive as himself. Perhaps, Nana had been too much of a woman for him. She was domineering in a way he hadn’t quite expected her to be. It was his own mistake, for believing it was inherent to the gentler sex to be, well. Gentler. Nana showed no intentions of softening in his arms. Even naked, she held more confidence than a man like him. In the end, he was taught to accept the damage to his pride because he’d fully earned it, believing Nana to be someone she was not. 

It was a mistake she was still punishing him for. How could he ever hope to atone for it? 

“Somehow Ken was under the notion that you enjoyed male company as well.” 

“Your dog is more perceptive than you.” 

Aya's eyebrow twitched. 

"You should stop saying such things about Ken."

“I mean no offense to him. He’s quite impressive, really.” Chloe stopped with the compliments, least they be repeated to the man himself. “He’s a hound. An animal, all the same, of course. You can’t expect it to behave at a dinner table. But take it to a hunt and it shows you their true worth.”

Chloe wasn’t lying. It was hard to believe Ken hadn’t been altered by the same drug they were pursuing. A strange thought when they had Free in their team.

Free was... abnormal, to say the least. His strength was far beyond human comprehension or skill. His muscles sprouted like tumors. The growth of mass resulted in an appearance just a shade away from uncanny. From the expression frozen in his face to the bulk of his body, any person could feel how... off his presence was. There, but not entirely there. Human, but not quite. A shared living with the man taught Chloe Free was no older, in mind, than Michael. Thought his head was fractured beyond matters of age and comprehension.

Ken was fairly normal in comparison. His loyalty to Side B relied completely over his trust in Aya. Aya’s minimal body cues sufficed as orders, the non-verbal communication between them enough to start Ken into attack - or stay his hand and wait. He was truly a wonder in moving parts, survival instinct bound together by flesh and bones.

“Ken is more than what you know of him.”

“Of this, I have no doubts.”

Chloe was unsure he meant to know more. There was no blood lust, but the glimpses he saw beneath the facade Ken put up for the world betrayed efficiency. A lion didn’t kill for the thrill, it killed because it was built for it. And so did Ken.

The reality of Ken’s purpose loomed behind his smiles and solitude. Behind their tentative friendship, it was a fact Chloe could push aside, but never forget. That he saw through Chloe was just proof he should not be underestimated. Perhaps it was even the reason Chloe acted so fast to dismiss the man - easier to pretend there was no danger when next to it.

Of course there was more to Ken than it. Chloe had seen him mourn. Chloe had seen him pray. It would be shortsighted to forget there was humanity in him, as there was in every member of Side B.

It would be a terrible mistake, however, to forget the way Ken sliced through his targets. Just because they were comrades, it didn’t mean he couldn’t find himself on the wrong side of a pair of claws. 

And he was not Aya, who, as a pack leader, was exempt of such concerns as he’d earned Ken’s devotion.

_See?_ , Chloe could not stop a grin. He could be perceptive as well.

“Don’t be sour.” He told Aya, even if Aya’s perceptions were rarely tinted by his personal feelings. “Not about the way I treat Ken, or Nana.” 

“Or me?” Aya was smiling. There was a self deprecating hint to the curve of his lips.

So he could play the game, too. Chloe would not apologize. Aya was handsome. He could not be blamed for indulging in his company, even if Aya didn’t hold the same interest towards him. 

“Everyone has their outlet.” Chloe shrugged. It was an usual need for every professional; they more so. “Michael and Free have each other. Yuki has you on a leash. I haven’t quite figured out what is your way of venting.”

Aya was quick to grasp the concept, yet Chloe could tell that, for him, the idea of using someone felt too much like… using someone. No matter how willing people were to be used. Chloe wished to tell Aya it wasn’t always about interpersonal connection, but Aya seemed to resent the idea of fun, even when two consenting adults engaged on it.

“I understand, but meditation does work for me. And,” he hesitated for a split second before raising his arm and gesturing towards the nearest painting. “This. Our outings are relaxing. They make me forget our job, more often than not.” 

In front of them, a young woman struggled to hold down a man twice her size. He reached out to her accomplice, whose frail, female arms kept him pinned as Judith tore into his throat with a knife. Blood seeped into the white covers of his mattress.

The irony was not lost at Aya. Chloe’s smile was strained. He felt compelled to chide Aya, despite being flattered by his words, and his choice as a companion. There was a stark difference between what made life tolerable and what you lived for. Beauty wasn’t a mere diversion from their job, despite how ugly it could get. _Judith_ proved it to them, her face flushed in the strain of her work as she serrated Holofernes head. There could hardly be another woman as lovely.

No, this made life worth living. 

“I appreciate the sentiment.” Chloe conceded. After a second pressing his tongue against the back of his teeth, he felt inspired to add: “It’s the reason why I tease Ken. I hope you know there’s no animosity between us.”

“Excuse me?”

Chloe slid his hand against Aya’s back, guiding him away from Gentileschi’s work. Aya seemed quite enraptured by it. Chloe couldn’t blame him. It was as gorgeous as it was violent (often, such things walked in pairs).

“Come, let us find something less gruesome to stare at.”

Once they were away, Chloe continued.

“I’d rather have Ken try to stab me with a fork over dinner than with his claws during a mission.” 

“I’d think you’d rather not get stabbed at all.” 

That earned Aya a heartfelt laugh.

“Of course not. But I hardly think that would matter, the way the pressure is building up inside him. I’d like to think calling him a dog is like puncturing a can. It might be cruel, but isn’t it better than letting him explode on us? You’ll have to forgive my words. But I wouldn’t like to be around the day he snaps.”

He progressed without being asked to.

“I’ve read the files, Aya. A rabid dog doesn’t care to bite the hand that feeds it. Ken likes to spend his energy in the only way he knows. If fighting makes him blow off a little steam… Well, it’s fun.”

Aya looked doubtful. Chloe thought him well humored, in general, but his bluntness of character often meant he leaned towards a literal understanding of things. According to Ken, Aya and him had first met in similar circumstances, and it resulted in a grudge difficult to forget. Chloe thought it was impossible for Aya to be unfriendly. Ken had, with his usual charm, called Aya “a total dickhead back then”.

(For someone so unwilling to adopt English as a second language, Ken had learnt how to cuss like a fifth grader.)

“If you’re sure about that.”

“Oh, I am. While I’m not fond of close combat training, whenever we spar I can feel something hard digging into my hip. And I bet it’s not due to my good looks or shining personality.”

Aya, who’d been looking to him as he spoke, became terribly entertained with a painting. Hands behind his back, he leant forward slightly to examine it better. His attention would’ve been admirable had it been honest. Chloe felt it was a disservice to the painter to be so intensely studied only because Aya felt uncomfortable about the subject. 

As if he hadn’t been aware of Ken’s inclinations. Hm. To each their own. Ken himself was blind as he was stupid. He didn’t expect Aya to be avoidant of it, either, not when Aya brought up the subject. Skirting around it like a maid, yes, but wasn’t this what this conversation was all about? 

Still, he wasn’t going to push Aya about it if he meant to beat around the bush. Ken worked better when he was (gently) prodded until he couldn’t take the teasing anymore. Aya was different. This language Chloe shared with Ken was misunderstood by him, who thought people should either be honest, or not talk at all. While Aya had a sense of humor and could play at sarcasm, there was some lower, crass jokes someone like him would never find amusing. Chloe enjoyed the fine food and finer clothing, but it was playing pretend. True nobility came from birth. It was an ideal he could not accept when he was a child. Yet looking at Aya, Chloe could understand the gap between him, and the legitimate son from a respected family. Regardless of the primor of his upbring, and the care of his foster parents, he would never be one of them.

Chloe had inspired in him the same religious fervor. It was cruel for someone to be so unattainable. He imagined Aya and Chloe to be cut from the same mold, unable to be touched by mortals like him without being tainted. Perhaps it’d been the sight from the real world that had blinded her. As for Aya, death god or not, he was godly all the same.

Still, it was unlike for him to pine after someone like a lovesick little girl. Certain things could not be helped. It would be gallant of him to back down, but then, Aya was unable to be clear on the ground their relationship stood. While he didn’t enjoy the attention, he didn’t refuse it, either, once it was made explicit. It looked almost as if Aya was gauging Chloe’s interest for… something. Chloe couldn’t understand, yet, but it didn’t mean he would not. As such, the best course of action would be to continue as if nothing had happened - something Chloe was glad to do. If only because this dance of theirs was as pleasant as any actual skin ship. 

“Well, are you quite done observing the painting?” Chloe could not help himself. “I wonder what attracted you. Was it the precision of the brush strokes or the master work done with the lights and shadows?”

Aya’s cheeks became delightfully crimson. He stepped away from the painting to recompose himself, adjusting the coat in place before he could face Chloe with dignity again.

“Would you mind if we left now? It’s getting late.” And then, as if it could help his case, Aya added: “Ken saved dinner for us.”

“Who am I to refuse?”  It was in a whimsical impulse Chloe extended his arm towards Aya. To his surprise, Aya actually took it. A gesture of confidence, perhaps to rectify his early blunder.

 In the back of his head, Chloe could not stop from spreading the idea that this evening had shifted the status quo between them. Whatever would happen from now on, it would be with the full knowledge from both parts. It was an exciting thought, yet terrifying. 

Chloe looked forward to it.

 


End file.
